A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

These words were written in the quiet hope that one day the trumpet will sound—whether soon or after many years—and call us all home. May the ancient promises hold you steady while we wait, and may the thought of that bright gathering bring you peace.

With anticipation,

The Poet

1 Corinthians 15:51–52

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

1 Thessalonians 4:16–17

For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

One of these days—

perhaps with the next breath of dawn,

or after long seasons of waiting—

the trumpet will sound.

Clear and sudden,

cutting through the hush of graves

and the ordinary noise of living,

it will call us home.

The dust will stir,

the sleeping will rise,

and those still walking these roads

will lift their faces to the sky.

No more measured years,

no more “soon” or “later”—

only the bright gathering,

the long-promised return.

And we will go,

all of us together,

toward the place prepared,

toward the One who waits.

One of these days…

the trumpet will sound,

and we will all be going home.

One of these days…

***To God be the glory only and always.