I call out as my heart grows faint,
From the ends of the earth I call.
And he comes, my beloved companion
Comes to my side.
This time, he sits with me and leans close.
He gently holds my right hand
In between both of his,
And I feel the calluses on his fingers
Hard-earned from his days spent wood-working.
I find great comfort in my time with him,
Comfort enough to find ease and cry.
My tears rush quickly, pouring out with great fervor
And some of them get caught in his hair,
But he doesn’t mind.
His hair is long, longer even than mine.
He is the sort that Grandmother
Would call a “Hippie.”
But as my tears flow, he doesn’t complain.
He just holds my hand and shares with me
The warmth of his heart.
Sometimes I don’t cry, and we just sit
Together, quietly thanking one another
For giving their love.
And sometimes I am already crying
And he comes and puts me on his shoulders,
Carrying me through my day,
The scent of fish and saltwater rubbing
Off of his robe and onto
And he carries me until my eyes are dry,
Until my legs are stronger and I
Remember to laugh.
Or sometimes we talk about the troubles
Of this world, or about the beauty
Around us, or we dance together
Under the moonlight
Before he tucks me in to bed.
He always comes when I call out to him.
But in every moment, in those when I do not call,
I have this strong sense
That he is there beside me.
They say that when you are in love,
You are never alone in spirit.
And oh, I love my Jesus
And HE loves me.
A poem by T. LaReveur