When I Go Home

When I die,

don’t imagine darkness.

Imagine morning.

Imagine the softest light

spilling through a doorway

that was always there

but hidden behind the veil of breathing.

When I die,

don’t you cry as if I am lost.

I will not be lost.

I will be found.

Found in arms

that never trembled.

Found in love

that never bruised.

Found in a Father

who never once turned His face away.

No more pain will follow me there.

No ache will trail behind my steps.

Sorrow will loosen its grip,

and tomorrow will no longer whisper worry.

Time will not rush me.

Fear will not know my name.

Tears will have no language in that land.

When they lay me in the earth,

I will not be there.

I will be laughing

not the fragile laughter of survival,

but the full-bodied joy

of a child running into her Father’s chest.

No earthly father ever loved me like You.

You were the One

who wiped my tears in the midnight hours,

who taught my shaking hands

to fold in prayer instead of defeat.

On my knees in the quiet dark,

You showed me

that love does not wound to prove itself.

Love heals.

Love holds.

Love stays.

So when I go,

let it be said

she wasn’t taken

she was welcomed.

And in that sweet forever,

I will rejoice.

Because death will not be an ending.

It will be the moment

I finally step fully

into the arms

that carried me

all along.