In my father's house -  Pam Robinson

(From Jesus’ perspective about Joseph, his earthly father who vanishes from the scriptures)

Darkened room, hushed voices,

presence of death.

Not unexpected, for you were old

when I was young.

Grief bites hard.

From babe to man,

you were at my side.

I kneel there now,

your hand rough in mine.

I lay my head on your chest,

my tears fall.

I hear her weeping at the door,

a question in her cry:

Make the impossible possible.

But that's not how his life was to be lived.

This book is written.

This chapter over.

This verse stilled.

These tears the only record.

I rise and hold her in my arms,

calm the storm of her widow's grief.

I lift her head and speak of another

room in my Father's house,

where we all will be received.

For it was written, when he was old

and I was young.