The House Your Father Built

You spoke fondly of your childhood.
Your father was a hard worker,
And your mother a free spirit.
A humble upbringing,
In the house your father built.

He spent weekends forming calloused hands
With his brothers by his side.
Your family moved in
And they watched you grow up,
In the house your father built.

It was a sacred place built with his own two hands,
Where family came first
And love was abundant.
And you ate dinner together every night,
In the house your father built.

Each milestone passed,
You lost your first tooth and learned to ride a bike.
Laughter could be heard echoing from every room,
And at night you slept safely
In the house your father built.

Time passed and you grew older,
Now ready to be on your own.
The next chapter of your life prepared to unfold.
And you said your goodbyes
In the house your father built.

One day a call came speaking the words no parent wants to hear.
There was an accident.
And outside the world went on and it kept spinning,
But for a moment time stood still
In the house your father built.

That day God called for you
And far away you soared,
Leaving behind your loved ones and childhood home.
And countless tears were shed
In the house your father built.

Now left seeking and needing to find
A glimpse of your smile and the sound of your voice.
There are pieces of you hidden just out of sight.
Love wove them into the boards
In the house your father built.


In memory of Seth Hidinger.  09/14/87 - 06/04/13