Two years already

 

It's been two years since John received the joyful calling to serve as stake patriarch of the Crestwood Kentucky stake.  He has had the privilege of voicing blessings for over ninety people so far, and he is always amazed at how inspiration flows on behalf of each person receiving the blessing.

                                   Patriarchal Blessing

                                           by Darlene Young
   

              The boy, sixteen, is taller than his mother, taller than
              the creaky man with shiny eyes and trembling hands.

              Mother comes fasting, something she's good at,
              years of honing her physical yearnings
              into empty bowls to catch spiritual manna.
             And now she is empty of all but her hope
              of hearing the voice of God through this old man.
              Her son, the first-fruit of her labors,
              a rought-cut stone but the best she could do  ---
              and would God touch this stone with his finger?

              Her son folds into the chair with a quick glance
              at her, an echo of the glance he gave her long ago
              the day he stood to join his father at the font.

              And maybe now the father will join them
              in spirit? She, longing, glances to the corners of the room.
              The trembling hands are stilled on the boy's head,
              as if the words of power give them weight ---
              the words that dart like lightning in the air
              and dance upon her eyelids. She opens them
              to watch the old man, ageless, shine like sun,
              his voice a whisper still but piercing bright.

              The mother sits and holds the hand of God ---
              for once she feels she's truly not alone
              in her sweet knowledge of her son's good heart.
              She weeps to hear God tell her of the man
              he will become, this boy she's nursed with blood
              and milk, and tears,
              this boy, a shining sword, a man of God.
   
              And in the silence when the blessing's done
              the son stands up and shyly takes her hand.
              The old man, feeble now, stands at the door,
              winking in the glitter of the stars.
              For days those flashing words will dance like sparks
              around her ears, behind her eyes and in the air ---
              as if she walked with diamonds in her hair.