Ruthy, I miss you.

I miss you more than words can say,

I miss you more than the distance that separates the two of us.

I miss coming home to a friendly face

And a high pitched 'cherry'!

I miss our afternoon coffees,

Two small cups are far better than one.

I miss your smile and your laugh.

I miss the silliness that is us.

Please come home quick.

These days
Slowly monotonous,
It seems time is the only one changing.
This day grates against the next
Each as fragile as the one before,
We do not know when You will call us home.
So while we are here
In the spaces of life
You have so carefully ordained,
Would you give us, please
The grace to bear up under each one
And the patience to hold fast to You
The One whose constance we shall never grow weary of.

So often I feel like I know You,
That I know who You are
Because of Your goodness and grace.
Your blessings show me that You are present
And that You are God of heaven and earth.
But when the blessings seem to dissipate
And Your silence becomes deafening,
When the unanswered prayers weigh heavy on my heart,
The dark hour casts shadows on Your face,
What then?
Can I still claim to serve a gracious Father?
Can I know without doubt that You still remain?
Can I give You praise when the darkness blinds me,
Waiting for my disbelief?

God, You are God
When the blessings surround me,
And God, You are God
When the goodness of your love
Is not so clearly evident to me.

Your little life

Was created, designed and knit together

By the greatest Craftsman.

It was done lovingly,

Attention was paid to the very last detail,

Without a doubt

You were perfect in His eyes.

But your breaths were numbered

And the hours were few,

Before you filled your lungs

For the very last time.

My questions unanswered

And the sadness in this heart unfamiliar.

I did not know your face

And it was not me who sat beside you,

Patiently waiting, hoping,

Lord, take him quickly

Or heal him now.

The voice of the sweetest girl I know

Sang over you,

Of a love both fierce and gentle.

Your mother loved you.

Her first child,

A boy.

And she grieves her loss,

The loss of being able to hold you,

To be loved by you

To touch you, feeling your warmth on her skin.

Her pain is great,

But her Creator is much more.

I pray your mum finds comfort

And the Love she longs for

In the Saviour of the world.

Let earth and heaven combine,

angels and men agree,

to praise in songs divine

the incarnate deity,

our God contracted to a span,

incomprehensibly made man.

Unsearchable the love

that has the Saviour brought;

the grace is far above

or man or angel's thought:

enough for us that God, we know,

our God, is manifest below.

He deigns in flesh to appear,

widest extremes to join;

to bring our vileness near

and make us all divine:

and we the life of God shall know,

for God is manifest below.

Made perfect first in love,

and sanctified by grace,

we shall from earth remove,

and see his glorious face:

then shall his love be fully showed,

and man shall then be lost in God.

Charles Wesley

"If human love does not carry a man beyond himself, it is not love. If love is always discreet, always wise, always sensible and calculating, never carried beyond itself, it is not love at all. It may be affection, it may be warmth of feeling, but it has not the true nature of love in it." Oswald Chambers