The kind of fruit that lasts (giving thanks)
I feel it in my chest. A lump of sorrow, and I remember the phone call that came last night.
It was my son. “It was so hard, Mom.” My boy, he’s weeping, and my heart, it’s in a vice. “So hard to see him like that.” Oh, Lord. Ah, Father. The pain…
I listen, crooning comfort in mother words, throat thick with tears. This world here, it’s fallen. And life here just stinks. Sometimes, it just stinks.
I’m thinking of Brad, the young man cut down in his prime. Young father, young husband, loving Jesus and his family. My son’s weeping, and me, I’m thinking of the other mama. Oh, Lord. Ah, Father! A mother’s pain, who can bear it?
This morning, as she lays her son to rest, tucks him in one last time, I’m thinking of fruit. It was only on Friday last, that I’d opened the Word, lamp shining light straight onto pages, and I heard His voice.
“I am the vine and you are the branches. If a man abides in me and I abide in Him, he will bear much fruit…This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”
I’m thinking of a man named Brad. And I’m thinking of the fruit he left behind. For it was my very own son whose life was affected by his faith, his obedience and his love.
I’m grateful today for what that other mama’s boy did for mine. How he led his small group. Went to summer camps, played jokes. How he talked straight, modeled Jesus.
I’m thankful for how his sacrificial love; for love that visited a middle school to watch a kid wrestle one night long ago. For fruit, glorious fruit…
As I whisper prayers for father, mother, sister, brother; for wife and a daughter and others who loved him, I thank the Father today for His love given feet. Love shown in hands. For fruit that’s eternal, which honors King Jesus.
Thank You, Lord. And thank you, Brad, for your faithfulness and the fruit that’s outlived you in at least one boy that this mother knows.