A Prayer For Papa
Father in Heaven:
Papa left our home for Yours.
I do not question Your care of him
But there are so many little things...
Please see that he is well supplied with books
With larger print and many pictures ----
He dozes more than reads, then rouses, God,
To look again and pictures help him find his place.
See that he shaves, Father, and bathes
For he is bad as any little boy, pretending not to hear.
Keep after him, Lord, and You'll be glad You did
For his face, grown round as sun, will glow --- so scrubbed and pink.
His hair, a scant growth with kissing circle at the center-top,
Will still need trim, and will You find some small unbusy angel to keep it kissed?
Please, God, see he has occasional treats ---
But watch him with the frosted cakes, chocolate bars
And thick-spread peanut butter.
No, on second thought, Father, just pretend to watch
(So he will know You care about his health)
And let him have his fill --- or it would not seem like Heaven.
Could that wee unbusy angel be a girl?
Papa is so exactly right for little girls --- I know.
His lap is soft, she'll see,
And how they'll laugh at silly jokes made up, together.
He will call her by a special name ---
Not "Nubbin," that belongs to me,
And spin such wild, exaggerated tales
Of
where he's been and what he's seen.
Could his chair --- a
large one, please, and molded to his shape ---
Be near a
window where the cherubs play?
He likes to part the drapes
and watch their fun ----
Never having completely grown up, or
old.
O, Lord, while I think of it, can he sometimes part the skies
To see how much we miss him here?
If he
could have a little dog, he'd like that, God.
Or bird, or
turtle, a bowl of fish, or some small living thing
To keep
him company when You are busy
And the little girl has gone
away.
O, yes, are papers delivered there each day?
He
watches for them, and though he falls asleep,
He likes them
in his hands.
Try not to listen, Father, when he sings.
He
isn't musical, at all, and the words are often naughty.
He
sings in his sleep, and talks and snores,
To fill all Heaven
with his sounds.
Papa will require covering many times each
night ---
I miss this part the most I think,
And
oft' some noise will play its heartless trick,
I hurry to his room of empty covers, outgrown bed.
I wish I
had always been patient with him, and humoring,
If all Heaven
went awry, You would not tire
And grow cross with him, as I
did many times,
But, God, will even You --- in all Your
wondrous ways --- Love him more?
He
is safe in Your home, not ours, and I try not to question...
But
there are some little things... Please see to these.
Papa did
not have, or care about, large, impressive ones...
Thank you,
God, for letting him keep his small accustomed ones.
(He
isn't expressive, and may not say, but you will see his joy.)
Thank
you, Father, thank you, for letting us have Papa
And for
being understanding in our grief.
Amen...