Winter's Storm, Summer's Wind

As many of you who have followed the blog know, I, Will's Mom, like to write poetry. Before the wedding, Summer approached me about doing some poetry for the luncheon. She suggested Elizabeth Barrett Brownings, "How do I Love Thee." My friend Nola VanWagenen, who accompanies my poetry on the violin, suggested the theme song to "Somewhere in Time" as background music. I thought they fit beautifully together.

I don't want to be compared to Browning, but I decided I needed to put into poetry some of my impressions of the year of the stroke as it pertained to Will and Summer. What I came up with I titled, "Winter's Storm, Summer's Wind." Nola heard it and immediately thought of "When You Walk Through a Storm Hold Your Head Up High...and You'll Never Walk Alone." It was the perfect song for the occasion. Thanks to all of you and your constant prayers in his behalf, Will has not been walking this difficult journey alone. I felt it would be appropriate to share with you the words to the poem. While Summer has been the wind, you have been spirit in the wind, the enabling power of grace, working behind the scenes to give both Will and Summer the strength, courage and determination to keep going.


Winter’s Storm and Summer’s Wind

When winter’s blast unleashed its cruel stroke,
And Will from thirty turned to be thirteen,
Much of his hope lay dead, yet there awoke
In him a realm made clean by suffering;
An inner kingdom in whose pathways ran
A heightened sensitivity to love,
A shredding of the carnal, natural man,
A wakening to insights from above.
It was a world where broken, wounded things
Intensified in him a wondrous awe,
Which wedded woundings to awakenings
As with new eyes he recognized and saw
Not but the surface, he beheld the depths.
He knew the pain and grief of sorrows born.
Unbidden tears welled up where once he’d slept
Unmindful of another’s cause to mourn,
Insensitive to open wounds which wept.
But now no more was kept from him the gift
To see another’s pain, and know of ways to lift.
Will’s stroke has grown in him that Flowing Fount
On whom all men rely for hope to rise;
Its Living Waters navigated mounts whose storms
Would sunder souls, and claim captivity the fate of their fair prize.
Will’s soul was rescued from captivity
As someone dear to him unleashed a surging gale,
A mighty wind whose hopes and humorous cheers,
Like to a billows, now blows out the folds of his deflated sails
And makes once more his destination clear.
It is the wind of love which fans the flame
Of one small candle yearning to burn bright.
A Summer wind, whose warmth and empathy
For Will’s ischemic stroke, diffuses in its wake both truth and light
Against the night of Will’s Gethsemane.
Will’s stroke brought Summer’s angel to his side,
As breath of mercy, warm with radiant beams.
Now is she his, his helpmeet and his bride,
The sweet fulfillment of his fondest dreams.
We who beheld this tale of love unfold,
Did with our eyes a miracle behold.