If today were to be my last day I would be remembered as your child. Your glory would be my virtue. The shield of your honor would cover me. For eternity I would remain as a part of you. You would precede me in record and word as along as I might be remembered. With this knowledge I am honored and I pray that I will always honor you.

I’ve stood in your furrow and harvested your grain. I’ve been nourished by you and nurtured of you. I’ve drawn comfort from you and believe in you. I’ve seen the light in your eyes and felt your heart in your voice. I’ve been washed by the sweat of your brow and have been groomed on the strength of your faith.

From your wife’s breast I drew life, from her words wisdom and from her eyes I drew peace. The touch of her hands has healed me. The sound of her voice has calmed and inspired me. The smell of her home fortified my soul. Her vigilance contained spirit and her smile released all bonds that held me.

At the altar I have prayed and been blessed by the Lord. I’ve heard the word and shared its’ wisdom. I’ve walked the path and known the spirit. I’ve seen his honor in you and grown because of it. The Lord has blessed your home and filled it with the spirit of His word.

Yet, I am restless. I have romanced the stones of the field and spoken tender words to the leaves of the trees. I’ve been impassioned by the shadows and grieved at the light. Feelings of hope have flickered inside me. Dreams of pleasure have blinded me. Voices have stirred embers only to be fanned by the wind of imagination and I’m drawn like a moth to the flame.

As time has brought me to this point time will carry me into tomorrow. But tomorrow I will stand at the altar holding the hand of a Lord I call my own. Your Lord has to be mine and I his. As your prayers coveted his word, so shall mine. As your quarter was offered, so shall mine be. As your life shows the light, so shall mine.

Tomorrow I will walk the road to a new life. The furrow in which I stand next spring shall be my own. The seeds I sow and harvest I yield must be of my own deeds. The praises or indignation on the lips of others will be of my own doing. On the day when my stone is carved the carver must have words from which to choose. Tomorrow I will start collecting those words.

I yearn to know the feel of soil in my hands when the soil is mine. I dream of walking as you have walked, of sharing as you have shared and of holding a child as you once held me. The desires burning inside me can only be quenched by the toil of my hands and the sweat of my brow.

As my father, I respect you. As a leader of men, I revere your vision. As your son I desire to honor you. As a man I bow to your greatness. As life brings glory and honor unto me I will aspire to be like you. As I leave your home I leave in awe of you.

May the torch I carry shine praises on you.

Rothshambeau