We had a lovely Sunday morning.  Tim and I sat out in the gazebo in the early morning cool, me drinking coffee, him drinking his diet coke, chatting about unimportant things.  The Scalawag Twins woke up before the other children, and came out in their jammies to join us, combining their lighthearded chatter with ours.  Soon, all the children were up, and we had breakfast, cleaned up a bit, and went through the normal Sunday morning chaos of getting ready for church.

Church was lovely as well.  Old hymns mixed with new praise songs.  But there was a heaviness too.  Right in the pew in front of us was a visiting family.  White parents, three black children.  My heart began hurting.  I tried to concentrate on the service, but the pain remained, throbbing low and dull.

After church, I hurried out to the van, and soon Tim and the children joined me.  Each of the children mentioned the black children, and that one of the children reminded them of Peter.  Everyone was a bit low.

The young boy didn't look like Peter at all physically.  But he had a sad, melancholy air about him.  Something very Peter-like about him.

It's been a bit of a sad Sunday for us.  But mixed with the sadness is an odd combination of peace and hope.  Sort of a thrilled kind of hope.  But still...under that hope my heart feels that dull thudding pain.  I wonder today...I've wondered a lot lately...is this the mixture of pain and sadness and peace and joy that is part of creation groaning for relief, for hope to be realized and to be delivered by the hand of the Creator?

For my son, Peter...this song is my song for you, the song my heart sings for you. 

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I'm down on my knees again tonight
I'm hoping this prayer will turn out right
See there is a boy that needs Your help
I've done all that I can do myself
His mother is tired
I'm sure You can understnad
Each night as he sleeps
She goes in to hold his hand
And she tries not to cry
As the tears fill her eyes

CHORUS:
Can You hear me?
Am I getting through tonight?
Can You see him?
Can You make him feel all right?
If You can hear me
Let me take his place somehow
See, he's not just anyone
He's my son

Sometimes late at night I watch him sleep
I dream of the boy he'd like to be
I try to be strong and see him through
But God who he needs right now is You
Let him grow old
Live life without this fear
What would I be
Living without him here
He's so tired and he's scared
Let him know that You're there

CHORUS

Can You hear me?
Can You see him?
Please don't leave him
He's my son

-Mark Shultz