Page 121 of Bless This Hot Mess

They’ll feel my hands upon their back.

If storms keep coming, they’ll face them

Guiding strangers through the black.

We built the tower.

Now it’s their turn,

To keep the signal intact.

There’s a promise pressed inside me

Like a secret wrapped with care.

And now I’ve pressed it into them

So, it can be realized if they dare.

Maybe loss is its own gospel,

And maybe love demands we try,

To turn the silence into truth,

To truly make it right this time.

Who rises when the lighthouse keepers

Leave without a final word?

The band they said would stay small forever,

They’re waking now, they’re stirred.

Not by certainty or safety,

Not by knowing how to lead,

But by the echo of their calling

And the town’s unspoken need.

They will stand where I once stood,

With trembling hands and open eyes.

We built the tower.

And through their daring,

They’ll come to realize–

The waves I tended

Will still roll through them

Children of the lighthouse