Hug

As we went through the MTC doors, I said, “Heavenly Father, he is yours.”

With tears burning in my eyes.

We said our farewells and good-byes.

He’s not off to kindergarten, he’s not out to play,

he’s doing the Lord’s work today.

I guess the mailbox will become our best friend,

as we wait for the letters he will send.

 

A strange silence fell on our home.

Someone is missing and I feel alone. 

No “Hey, Mom,” or even his voice on the phone.

The basketball is still in the hall.

I see his smiling photo on the wall.

His winter coat is hanging on the rack.

It will be two years until he is back.


Too much milk in the fridge, no more wash to do.

My workload is lightening, but, son, I miss you.

Crying, I walk into his room.

Then I remember Christ’s empty tomb.

My sacrifice is so small, compared to it all.

God bled and died for me;

I will not act selfishly.


Bitter sweet, the words repeat, “Feed my sheep”, it’s time to reap.

The fields are white as snow.

Let your boy go.

It is hard to let go of my boy’s hand,
For when he returns, he will be a man.
And as I turn and walk away,
“God bless our boy,” I silently pray.

Into the bright light through the MTC doors,
And once again, Father, I know he is yours.

Written by Diane Pullen Fehr after dropping her son off at the MTC

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