Disclaimer: This was hard for me to write. It may be hard to read. Please take care of you if you choose to read on – reading on is most definitely a choice. If something squeezes your heart too tight – listen to that. Take a break and come back later. These words will not leave.
He lay there in a box.
His arms crossed close to his hips, one hand over the other.
They told me he was dead.
He lay where dead people lay… in a box, with a cover.
There was not much choice in the matter.
I slowly walk up to where he lay, having flown across the country for this.
I came to see for myself, to pay my respects.
Lord knows… I have paid.
I study his face. He is an immense man.
He appears more peaceful dead than alive, funny, so am I.
A small smile had been set across his face.
How benevolent in death, how malevolent in life.
His hands look like clubs… they were.
I reach. I must.
I touch his cold, hard, huge hands.
Hands that hammered many warm, tender, small places.
Both of us dead. One of us breathing.
I close my eyes long.
“Let the dead bury themselves,” says He whose hands are punctured with my pain.
He reaches. He must.
I study His face. He is immense.
He lowers himself for me. A small smile has been set across His face.
How sacrificial in death, how beautiful in life.
I reach. I must.
I touch His huge, tender and warm hands.
He was hammered too.
In Him… I will slowly trust.
For He – is True.