Noah
September 21st, 2019
A cry leaps out of tiny lungs,
like a joy-song from a womb that
wore scarlet pain and crimson groans.
On this morning,
the instruments of a doctor’s skillful hands,
an orchestra of
machine melodies,
a father and mother’s hearts, pulled,
produced a symphony in the night,
an opus for a masterpiece from the Master’s hands: Noah Gabriel Richard.
Yet in God’s wisdom,
it was determined that he would be
a different song.
We would soon hear tragedy amid a composition of hope.
We would see God’s pen
mark our pages with
shrouded letters,
letters that spoke of pain,
letters that plummeted to depths only the suffering could reach.
October 2nd, 2019
My feet urge empty hands to go
back and hold young Noah.
But his eyes rested that late afternoon,
his tiny chest rising and falling in the Chevy parked
under a teal Los Angeles sky.
The air was clear, and hearts were bright.
For Noah broke a string of family heartbreaks
that lay scattered across memory lane.
At times, he smiled in his sleep. His family
smiled awake. This was Noah’s song.
October 16th, 2019
God writes stories we cannot read. This story threaded providence with tears.
And that day, Morning took on
another name: Night.
We sat in the emergency room and
listened to Doctor Peck, who carried
words the strongest of
hearts could not hold:
Noah has died.
We were assured staff tried and tried,
the room packed as hands
grasped to pull Noah back into life.
But our song
faded into silence.
Or so we thought.
We heard hope from a
distant throne,
where angels surround the Lord, Who dwells in unapproachable light,
as heavenly beings cry, Holy, holy, holy.
And here, on this distant Earth, our hearts sing a song of praise.
We sing of heaven, where
Noah now lives,
a song that tells
of sin-stained garments removed.
We sing of rescue from troubles
Noah would have doubtless had.
We sing of salvation from suffering
every sojourner must pass.
We sing a melody of small, delicate hands that reached far.
Yes, we sing a song that tells us of the beauty of God’s majestic,
brilliant glory,
in a heaven where sorrow isn’t known and the mist of pain will never rise.
Yes, we hear a song that
says, if we believe in Christ and repent,
we will savor a nectar-song
that tells us we
will see Noah again.