Isaiah 43:1, 4

I have called you by name, you are mine … you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.

To the little girl,

standing in the open field,

just before sunset,

staring into the golden sky

and calling out with a strength

only seen in pure love,

calling out the name

of a lost dog, a lost puppy,

a lost friend and companion.

The day is over.

It’s time to come home.

Come home.

To the mother

standing on the front porch.

The sky is dark now,

the porch light hums,

drawing the moths in

with its song, and here

the mother stands

and whispers the name

of that child, her child,

the one who’s now minutes late.

Come home.

To the woman,

making her trip to the tomb,

her daily trip and alone,

keeping watch, keeping vigil,

for what possible reason

others scoff, but she comes

because of grief, because of love,

and she closes her eyes

and says his name and when

she does he lives a little still

there in her heart, taking breath.

Come home.

He calls us by name.

He knows us like no other.

We are precious to Him.

We are loved by Him.

We are His and He is ours.

We belong to each other.

And He will not rest.

And He will not forget.

He will wait for us,

for eternity if necessary.

He will wait for us

to say His name,

and then come on home.

Amen.