by Bethany Enloe
As the Darkness Faded…
The dim light filled its place.
Where there was once black,
Is now a new morning.
The light is brighter now,
Making everything clearer.
I feel as if I had slept for 1,000 years,
Yet it was only a night.
Or was it?
A walk would be nice,
Yes, a walk.
To clear my head,
And gather my thoughts.
I know I am awake
Yet I feel that I am dreaming.
This could not be a dream,
for it is too real.
But can reality deceive?
Is reality equal to truth?
No, Truth is not equal to reality.
Truth is the Way.
The Right Way.
The Way that guides us Home.
Life is where Home is.
Am I Home?
Familiar Faces.
So many familiar faces,
Though no names come to mind.
Do I know these people?
Have we met before?
No, I can surely say we haven’t.
Or, can I?
They are all so different,
But I can’t tell them apart.
I must know them.
I have to know them.
But, I don’t.
Or, I think I don’t.
To describe this feeling would be difficult,
But I will try.
It is like meeting a brother
You never knew existed.
Or seeing a close friend,
You haven’t talked to in years.
It’s comfortable.
Like Home.
Yes, Home.
I must be Home.
Was that my name I heard?
Did someone call my name?
Yes, that’s my name.
Who knows me?
How much do they know about me?
Is it someone I know?
It must be,
For they know my name.
I see Him now.
Yes, it is Him.
He is calling my name.
Do I know Him?
I feel as if I do,
But I have never seen His face.
I can safely say
I have never seen His face.
But it seems so familiar.
I know His voice,
But I have never heard it.
Or have I?
I have spoken to Him,
many times.
And He to me,
Yet, am I sure who He is?
His voice is warm and loving,
His arms are open and inviting.
His embrace is strong and comforting.
Have I been here before?
He is firm and caring,
Like a Father.
He listens and comforts,
Like a Friend.
His presence is full and eternal,
Like a Spirit.
How could I not know His face?
He is talking now.
Answering all my questions.
He is becoming more and more familiar
But wait,
Where am I?
Do I know where I am?
It is so familiar,
Yet, I have never been here before,
Nor do I want to leave.
I think I will stay.
Yes, I will stay.
This will be my Home.
Home
I like the sound of that.
I’ve never felt at Home before.
Maybe because I have never been,
Until now.
(Written by Bethany Enloe in the 8th grade while trying to cope with the death of her uncle, Gerald Enloe; her 11 year old friend, Nancy Leigh Wilburn; and her mother’s best friend, Carol Broadwell.)