Small town people step up big when their neighbors need them. Stacey and I experienced the Benzie embrace in 2013 and 14 when we lost four of our loved ones suddenly. 

I am observing a small community that has lost many young people over a short period of time. Some kids survived thankfully but will live with their wounds the rest of their lives. 

Grief is a strange world. A difficult dream like place where you hope to wake up and find your old life again. That life never returns, but for you who are grieving I assure you that life will have a sweetness for you again. 

Death always brings new life. Like a lifeless seed dropped in the ground and buried a new life will sprout over time with sunshine, warmth and water. 

The fog lifts, the numbness leaves, the pain is overwhelming and the community goes back to their lives. I found myself praying one prayer in those days, “God help me.” He answered that plea with his comfort and his hope that brought me his peace. 

It is early morning at Betsie Valley Elementary School and I am alone. Readying the school for the arrival of the kids I carry the full weight of grief that day. 

I step to my desk, I sit down and sobbed for a very long time. Then something happened. Just once and never again since. I believe God gave me a poem to write to provide me comfort, hope and peace. 

I begin to write and the following poured out of my soul in a matter of minutes. 

Waiting for the rain

You our rosebud in a garden of thorns; you grew up in sunshine waiting for rain. Waiting for rain your bud would push out; blessings from heaven would surely bloom out.

Beauty in the blossom was our hope in the drought, waiting for rain it’s sure to come out. The thorns ever present and your bud bulging to bloom; waiting for rain it is sure to come soon.

The sun is now covered and the clouds have come in; waiting for the rain and for the blossom within. The rain came quickly; a storm in the night. It cut down our rose bud before the dawns light.

Cut down by the storm, there our bud lays; awaiting the rain has cut short his days. Our rosebud is broken; we placed him in a vase. Pricked by the thorn we lean on God’s grace.

Our bud has now blossomed though not like we planned; his bloom has now opened in a heavenly land. I know you have bloomed in a place that is bright; for you are with Jesus where never it’s night.

Waiting for rain, I see your sweet face, our boy, our son, our child in the vase. Here we sorrow awaiting the rain to cut us soon down and free us from pain.

We love you son, we’re doing OK; were waiting for rain to unite us some day. Someday we will bloom, be joyful, and say, “It’s good to see you, what a beautiful bouquet.”

To our grieving friends and our small town community. May God provide his comfort, his hope and his peace in the difficult days.