From Warren

With your dying breath,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could not find you,

rescue you,

pull you back to me.

All I could do was ease your distress

and wait for the God of Life

to do what I could not.

 

As our car tumbled down the highway,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could not shield you,

heal you,

restore your broken spine.

All I could do was sit by your bed

and wait for God in medicine

to do what I could not.

 

As we drove in our disability van,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could not stand for you,

walk for you,

give you back your legs.

All I could do was push your chair

and wait for God in personal aides

to do what I could not.

 

When disability frustrated you,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could barely hear you,

see you,

really feel your pain.

All I could do was run an errand

and wait for God in family

to do what I could not.

 

When you were lonely and depressed,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could not comfort you,

lift you,

adequately fill the space.

All I could do was get you to laugh

and wait for God in friends

to do what I could not.

 

When you wanted more life in Christ,

you softly cried, “Help! Help!”

But I could not help.

I could not save you,

redeem you,

give more life in Him.

All I could do was breath a prayer,

and wait for God in His church

to do what I could not.