A friend of mine was murdered in January this year. He was very effective in ministry and a strong pillar in the church. He was one of those guys that really made it in life given his humble beginnings. And when it had all happened there was but one question running wild in the mind of the congregation. Why… I knew that it wasn’t our place to question. But I wrote this poem in his memory, To comfort his mother. A dear old saint of The Lord.

Should we watch our children go,
In wooden boxes down below
And let the questions plague our mind,
How can death be so unkind.

My brother left for home today
He won’t be back to hear me say
I wish I could have made you see
Just how much you meant to me.

Now here on earth your sleep won’t break,
While up in heaven Wide awake.
Immortal now in eternity,
With white robes placed upon thee

And how he cheers with saints of old,
And here on earth the story’s told
Of our most beloved brother
And the strength of God in a mighty mother

Who in her weeping I heard say,
“My Boy has Gone in a wicked way”
And in a voice so dear to the Lord
She said, “But who am I to question God”

Greater are the things to which we will go
Than these few days of life below.
When you find no words to say
When rainy days won’t go away.
Remember soul this prayer to pray,
Almighty God has made a way.

Malcolm Erriah Malcolm.Erriah@stanlib.com