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.