From a Mother to a Son

I am like a small child having a temper tantrum because she has been denied something that she wanted to keep.

Knowing that I shall never touch upon this life again angers me.

A memory has no substance, it is of the intangible.

My eyes cannot see a memory, my hands cannot touch the spirit.

And in secret I dare hold anger towards my creator.

In secret I question him. How dare I.

Does the vessel question the potter and say why hast thou made me thus and not that.

He who divided the firmament, he who fed the sea.

I dare question a God who placed the sun up in the sky with the power of his words.

I must trust again. Within the lotus of my heart I know that though we may not be delivered out of a situation, we are given the strength to endure.

For this earth is truly our classroom, while here we will learn strengths and endure through patience.

Sometimes we just have to trust and wait.