ABIDE
A View
DRAPER’S PAPER ROUTE
ABIDE
by Adam Carroll Draper
She drank from the river of life.
The wind and the blue sky spoke,
Faintly whispering the forgotten.
Life was not breathed then spent.
Light was time and joy… place.
Love alone remains (whole)
No thoughts of her longest day -
Abject in waste and pain,
Straining in vain to stand.
Futility lingered and was gone.
She drinks the cool water still,
Where she abides and becomes,
Shining just because she is;
And all the broken people smile,
Whole and hale without the dimming
Memory of their time down there
Because it all makes sense in the sun
And everyone is free.
I wrote that poem around a decade ago, but it has taken on a new poignancy at this time of year. My big sister, Priscilla, died in May several years ago. I don’t know how to say this nicely. Her death was related to opiate addiction. I will leave it at that. Within days of hearing about Priscilla, my dear friend, Darwin Littlejohn, lost his brilliant and amazing son, Walker, to heroin. I had known Walker since he was born. That boy would make you laugh, and it was contagious. Darwin is still just devastated. A year later, around Mother’s Day (think about that), Alex Champney died after having struggled with addiction, too. Alex grew up with my daughter, Jordan. They were dear friends. Alex was simply wonderful and stunningly beautiful. Everyone who knew her adored her - and I loved her like she was my own.
Addiction is a symptom. The problem is angst, deep down pain in the soul. I asked a friend at the House of Prayer (a Christian rehab facility where Stef and I volunteer) why someone would use, knowing there was a distinct likelihood that it could kill him. He said, “You don’t think it’s really going to happen - and you really don’t care if it does.” These people I loved fought despair. How does this happen to those who know the Lord? Satan is a cunning liar and thief and a murderer.
At this time of year my heart grieves for my beloved - but I know the dawn that is to come. That is why this poem still moves me. I know where they are. It hurts in ways I cannot talk about when I hear the smug condescension of those who hate to say that the people I loved had it coming. I refuse to dignify the snotty church lady singing her seven thousandth chorus of “Just as I Am”, who deigns to sigh that they clearly did not know Jesus. Yes they did. Deal with it.
I know the bliss in which they dwell because I know the one who saved them. And I know that every one of these sweet sheep knew the shepherd. Who the Son sets free is free indeed!
If you got something out of this missive, please give it a thumbs up (or some such thing), comment on it, and/or share it. It helps. I really appreciate that you took the time to read this!