I Hold Your Heart

(dedicated to Maurice D. whose heart I held)

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I hold your heart within my hand.
It beats against my palm.
Your heart
The miracle of Creation and Re-creation
God's most beautiful gift.
I hold it now.
It is mine.
It is yours.
For we are one.
God's most treasured gift
Your heart, your life
Your heart is in my hand.

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Mr. Baear

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Hospice connected us. He had terminal cancer and didn’t have much longer here on earth. He didn’t have a church. He needed to talk. So I went. A bear of a man, even the ravages of cancer could not completely destroyed that. I could only imagine what he had been like in his youth. I heard the stories of his family, of his youth, of his faith. I heard of his life in war torn Germany. He talked. I listened to this Mr. Baear, as he lay in his bed in the comfort of his home, with a loving wife nearby, ready to serve him at his slightest need.

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I lay in my bed, deep in a forest, while sound asleep. Tall straight trees surrounded me with the scent of pine and crunching needles beneath my feet. As I followed a softly winding path, the intense green ferns in the under growth became thicker. Everything was so bright; so brilliant. I heard the crisp sound of ferns breaking under the feet of another. The footsteps got closer and clearer.

 

The path that I followed came to an end at a cabin door. The walls were rough logs pointing heavenward. The footsteps got louder. With all the crashing and banging, I was sure that someone was following and seemed to be in quite a hurry to catch up to me. I wasn’t really afraid, but I thought that I should be cautious. I entered the cabin. It was so very small. There was no hiding place. This would be no protection at all. I looked out the window at the side of the door and saw the ferns moving. I listened again. All was quiet. I thought, “It’s nothing at all. Just my imagination.” Slowly and quietly, I eased open the door. A bear, a huge black bear, lay dead at my feet.

 

I woke with a start to the telephone ringing. It was four in the morning. Hospice calling, again. “Bear died. Would you please, come?”

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She talked. We cried. We commended Mr. Baear into the hands of God.