Homesick for the Rock

I'm homesick.

I'm homesick for my childhood.

I miss My Mother's voice reading from Egermeir's
Bible Story book and The Little House Series
until her voice could read no more.
We'd get her a drink of water and scurry back
and she'd take a sip and selflessly read more,
as our bathed, p-jayed little bodies
pressed in as closely as possible
to the soft reader who always smelled good and loved
Jesus and us and words more than anyone we'd ever know.

Now, her lungs are giving out,
and I catch my breath
as she talks on the phone,
and hold back my tears,
and thank God for the time He's given
me to have such a one as this for My Mother.

I hang up the phone,
and breathe again,
and then I weep.

I miss those childhood summer Sunday afternoons
when our family would pile into a car
and go visit friends
or sit on the front porch
and wait for visitors to come to us.

I miss riding bike barefoot,
and walking on railroad tracks
barefoot,
and balancing on top of white fences
barefoot,
and walking out the lane at night
in complete darkness,
looking out for polecats and wowzers,
barefoot.

I miss youth group nights
when we gathered around the piano
and sang hymns in four part harmony.
Holy, Holy, Holy.
Great is Thy Faithfulness.
#606.
Come Thou Fount.

I miss going to church when our children were little
and taking turns teaching a nursing mother's
Sunday School with other young moms.

I miss holding our babies on the back of the
front pew while they danced and waved their
hands during happy worship,
and sniffed and wailed during
minor chord song worship.

(Susan thought that everyone
worshiped like the one she watched.
Kel Zook was her worship mentor and
she clapped and moved just like him.)

I miss simpler days.

I miss Line upon Line
Precept upon Precept
Sweet Sunday Sabbath
Family Fellowship Friendship
Hymns and Spiritual Songs

I miss the rock from which I was hewn..