High in the mountains, hidden from sight,
The stream is born in darkness like night.
It's birth is painful as if rocks block the way,
Tumbling and swirling towards the new day.
The stream gathers strength as it quickly grows,
Trickling, then running, then rushing below.
The crags and crevices that once did impede
Are nothing now as onwards it speeds.
Other streams run and splash alongside,
Others approach and then quickly hide.
Eventually water from two streams unite
And make up the river that's bonded for life.
The Maker of Mountains blesses that flow
With new streams that babble, scramble and grow.
The river grows longer, wiser, but soon
Stops for a rest at Midlife Lagoon.
Refreshed and with expectations raised high
The river rambles on through fields of ripe rye.
Blind to the course the Maker has concealed,
Carried on past orchards and freshly ploughed fields.
Suddenly, the river rushes though out of control
Driven by forces mysterious unknown to our soul.
The Maker of Mountains Whispers without delay,
‘Peace my child, I'm here beside you all the way.'
Though huge boulders and water falls may bruise,
Hang onto my hand, I'll make sure you don't loose
Those things that I've promised and sealed with my blood,
Gifts that are not damaged by storm, fire or flood.
So much is unknown, nor has it been revealed
The map of our life God has kept tightly sealed.
But this one thing brings comfort I know you'll agree,
The Maker of Mountains, His face you will see.
Take heart my brother, I wish I were there
To encourage, help and spend time in prayer.
The Maker of Mountains, He sees all our tears,
And brings hope and peace midst life's ugly fears.
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I wrote this for my brother Brian. He had melanoma secondaries in his brain and lungs, plus a damaged heart valve. His heart wasn't strong enough to stand chemo, and his lungs wouldn't stand an anesthetic.
Still, he lived life as fully as he could until failing eyesight and limited strength prevented him working and joining in the musical team at his local Church.