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Voice of the Maker
by Beth LaBuff
A car door slammed, then with a lope
Scampered a carefree lad,
The little guy with skinned-up knees
Was visiting Granddad.
The days ahead held promise with
Adventures to unfold,
You can’t just sit and wait on life
When you’re six years old.
The farmhouse sprang to action,
‘Twas fair-weather for the day,
They packed a lunch, then out the door
And they were on their way.
The little legs took twice the steps
To match the Granddad’s stride,
And Granddad’s heart, though weakened some,
Beat with a family pride.
Adventures started with a trek
Upon an earthen road,
Across the bridge then up a hill,
At length their pace had slowed.
‘Twas there upon a milkweed,
A caterpillar crawled,
He paused a bit and raised his head,
The two looked on— enthralled.
“What is he doing, Granddad?”
Inquired the little guy.
“He’s listening for the Maker’s voice,”
Was Granddad’s wise reply.
“And what’s the Maker telling him?”
“The Maker says that soon
He’ll need to find a steady branch
Then make his silk cocoon.”
Quite typical of six-year-olds
The next word posed was, “Why?”
Granddad, with his knowledge,
“He’ll become a butterfly.”
The boy thought on the process
Then breathed a whispered sigh.
He stared down at the dirt beside
Then something caught his eye.
The six-year old bent skinned-up knees
And stooped down to the ground,
He grasped a dark red pebble,
One quite smooth and round.
His childish fingers picked it up
And rolled it in his hand,
He stuffed it in his pocket,
Then rose again, to stand.
A chicken hen scratched near the two,
The boy studied the bird.
He wondered as the chicken paused
What had the old hen heard?
And as she fluttered to the coop
On feathered-chicken leg,
He knew that God was telling her
‘Twas time to lay her egg.
They journeyed on, more slowly now,
Then finally had to rest
For Granddad was all out of breath,
His palm pressed to his chest.
They settled ‘neath an apple tree
Upon the meadow grass,
They ate their lunch and waited for
His episode to pass.
When Granddad’s breath came easier,
Once more upon their way,
They saw a cow off by herself
Nearby the fresh mown hay.
“Now what would God say to a cow?”
The boy muffled a laugh.
Then Granddad said, “He’d tell the cow,
‘It’s time to drop your calf’.”
As they walked they came upon
An odd array of rocks,
Somewhat stacked atop each like
Haphazard building blocks.
Granddad told the little guy
About the Bible story,
The donkey and the palm leaves and
The people’s praise and glory.
He told about the Pharisees,
(Words penned by Dr. Luke)
To silence the disciples
They requested a rebuke.
How Jesus told the Pharisees
That if the people quieted
The rocks would then cry out.
The wheels inside the young child’s head
Spun ‘round in concentration,
Then in his pocket deep he reached
And pulled forth his donation.
He put his pebble on the pile
And then he thought about
Just how amazing it would sound
To hear the rocks cry out.
Just days after their journey
Found Granddad sick abed,
Reposed upon a patchwork quilt,
The boy perched near his head.
The open window near the bed
Enabled evening breeze
To cool the ashen weathered brow
And boy with skinned-up knees.
“What are you doing Granddad?”
He eyed the pallid face.
“I’m listening.” The Granddad said,
Cheered by the child’s embrace.
“And do you hear the Maker’s voice?”
Words whispered with a quaver,
“The voice that I am listening to—
That of my loving Savior.”
“And what’s the Savior telling you?”
He shifted on the bed
Then leaned to hear the Granddad’s voice,
“’Come home,’ my Savior said.”
Then youthful hands clasped work-worn ones
Until the final sigh,
And through the window, on the breeze,
Entered a butterfly.
Does the eagle soar at your command…? Verse 27
Do you know when the mountain goats give birth…? Verse 1
©Beth LaBuff -- July 2010
written for a FaithWriters.com writing challenge