Katie looked at the fragile ball in her hands. It was her grandmother’s. She can close her eyes and almost hear the woman’s voice, broken…
Waiting, waiting, always waiting…
For the light to changeFor the pay to comeFor the bill to stallFor the next…
…And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead…
Author’s Note: This poem is based on a sermon given by our campus pastor on Ezekiel 37:1–14. Image modified from stock image at pexels.com.
I sat recently at the funeral of a distant family member. He was one of my grandmother’s baby brothers.
Don’t mourn for me; It’s only my remains in the casket. I’ve gone to a far, far better place, And I won’t have another care. My Lord will be ever present with no more tears.