Exchanged my worn, weary, ragged, body
On Thanksgiving night, a day of my night
Exchanged ever be true, my mother’s hands
Raised in adoration of Jesus, “On Sunday
Evenings I’d watch her close eyes, raise
Hands over head, and mouth quietly
Much…to my mind was simplicity,
“Thank you Jesus.” I thought she was
Faking it, I thought she didn’t know,
How could she know anything, these
Books, these simple offerings we bring
Vast beyond, “All measure, beyond our
Demands!” her night before death,
Now, so many years Mom died of cancer
Lingering weeks before Thanksgiving
Me stunned, tired my wife, “He’ll never call
You again!” So I began a calling campaign
I called when I could, sometimes forgot,
Oh I called often at first, one call blurted
Out with it, I had nearly lost my life
Three times 2011, 2012 so I called him
Blurted out, “You NEVER call me, you
Moran,” and love did not lift us, he
Simply said,
Why don’t you call me, I AM THE OLDEST,
Response was cold, “If you ever
Speak to me again in that tone, I’ll never
Speak to you again.” He knew where
To cut, how deep the blade, and he
Had not been there for mom’s death
Her liberation from broken body,
Body I could not understand
I felt it rage in me, saw her give in
To death three weeks before she
Sent herself to His feet; I muttered
Some made-up poetic phrase,
She stepped neatly into His
Canyon of belief. His wisdom
Well with her soul, she made
Peace with me I could not explain to others
She knew, my mother knew I would
Find Him, my sin forgiven not in part
In whole lifted, though I be weak,
Still call brother, encourage him to visit,
Ask myself if there’s nothing in Des Moines
For me, have encouraged my wife to drive
Us to Iowa because I no longer drive,
Forgot how too late to know how, to all,
When she loved me here, when my Jesus
My Lord became my example, my wisdom
Sometimes escapes me for the better.
I call my brother, “Let the words of my mouth
Be pleasing to You, my Lord and redeemer
Meditation of my heart be pleasing to you.”
