I was considering gathering 
my life’s writings together, 
a few poems, a few short articles
to place in a notebook for
my children, and their children, 
a twist on the mid-life crisis.

While in thought, I found myself
unexplainably in a different room, 
like that of a museum.
On the wall to my left
were child-like drawings, 
stick figures beautifully framed in rich wood
and vaguely familiar.

Slowly traveling along the walls, 
I soon came to writings that I recognized 
as my own, lovingly memorialized
by an unseen hand.
Incomprehensible!

I was in a room filled with pictures 
and writings Someone had accumulated
throughout my life, each a frail attempt to 
praise and to point others to my
LORD.

Each item was displayed 
as only an obscenely wealthy parent might 
proudly display Sunday school papers, 
akin to the way most might mount 
their little lambs’ projects 
with magnets to the refrigerator door.

Whether a vision 
or simply “an undigested bit of beef,”
I will never forget
the powerful emotion of pride radiating from 
somewhere above me, 
like the palpable rays of the sun in July.

I had no idea.
I wept.

When I reach the other side,
I will ask my Father if He actually
keeps such rooms, one for each of His children,
not limited by the surface area of a kitchen appliance.

And should such rooms not exist, no matter.
The visual aid now in my mind’s eye
spurs me on to greater service for
Him.

I live to make Him proud.
 
 
 

Featured Writer:  Diana Roth

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