Faith and Grief

October is SIDS, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month

"I Dream"

Like a ripple in a pond,
A whisper in the wind,
I dream of how things might have been.

Your boyish grin
Your manly cleft shaped chin
Your chubby cheeks
Your soft blue eyes
Are dreams of days and weeks gone by.

Your first little giggle,
Your toes that you wiggled
Are memories that whisper now and then.

Like a ripple in a pond,
A whisper in the wind,
I can not help but cling to what
you might have been.

Watching you take your first step
as you eye your favorite toy to get.
Would it have been balls or blocks?
Or would it have been trucks or books?

I cannot know.
For like a ripple in a pond,
A whisper in the wind,
Your life was over when you became
a victim of SIDS.

In loving memory
Brennen Cole Kuehl-Sample
(10/14/2003-01/02/2004)

by Jewel Sample, Author of Flying Hugs and Kisses
© 2006

A Child Loaned

Barbara Curtis shared this beautiful poem on her blog (www.mommylife.net) and I knew you would appreciate it:

A Child Loaned

I'll lend you for a little time
A child of Mine," He said,
"For you to love the while she lives,
And mourn for when she's dead.
It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call her back,
Take care of her for Me?
She'll bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief,
You'll have her lovely memories
As solace for your grief.

I cannot promise she will stay,
Since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
I've looked this wide world over
In My search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes,
I have selected you;
Now will you give her all your love,
Not think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call
And take her back again?"

I fancied that I heard them say,
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.
We'll shelter her with tenderness,
We'll love her while we may,
And for the happiness we've known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for her
Much sooner than we planned,
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes
And try to understand.

- Edgar A. Guest