Dear Reader,

Remember what you have received. Hold fast to it, and contend for the faith once delivered to the saints. The promises of God are yea and amen—not distant words on a page, but living fire given to the soul that believes. May that fire of faith be kindled in you again: not a passing warmth, but a steady flame that teaches you to treasure Scripture, to live it, to adore its beauty, and to walk the high places of gratitude and joy. Let it produce a fire in you, that all the world may see the light of Jesus Christ in you. Do not let go of what has been placed in your hands. Keep it. Guard it. Contend for it. Let it light a holy flame.

What follows is an English sonnet: fourteen lines in three quatrains and a closing couplet, rhymed ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.

The Poet

For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen, unto the glory of God by us.
—2 Corinthians 1:20

Remember therefore how thou hast received and heard, and hold fast, and repent.”
—Revelation 3:3

Beloved… it was needful for me to write unto you, and exhort you that ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.
—Jude 1:3

Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; (for he is faithful that promised;)
—Hebrews 10:23

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
—Matthew 5:16

God’s promises are yea and amen still,
firm-spoken, sure, and sealed in Christ the Son;
believe this word, and you shall climb the hill
of gratitude, where joy and praise are one.

Not shadowed vales, nor long and weary plains,
but sunlit ridges, bright with grace bestowed,
where every step His living truth sustains
and gratitude itself becomes the road.

Hold fast the holy fire you have received;
let all the world look on and see its flame,
till Christ in you is known, seen, and believed,
and every promise answers to His name.

Keep what was given on this brief sojourn—
and let His beauty in you make them yearn.

**To God Be The Glory Always And Only!

Thessalonians 4:13–18 (KJV)

13 But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.

15 For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep.

16 For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:

17 Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

18 Wherefore comfort one another with these words.

Dear Reader,

This sonnet was written after the death of the last parent, when the world feels changed and yet is not empty. The rooms still hold light. There are still people who remember how you began. And heaven is not silent, for those you love are with Christ.

When the last parent dies, something irreplaceable is gone. They remembered your beginning more completely than anyone else on earth. That ache is real. Scripture does not ask you to hide it; even Jesus wept. Name the grief. Then lift your eyes: your help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

You are not without witnesses. There are people who saw you grow—family, old friends, those who stood nearby through the years—and they still remember how you began. That memory is a gift. It means your early life has not vanished. It still lives in other hearts.

And there is a greater comfort still. Those you love are with Christ. The grave is not the end of them, and grief is not the end of you. The same Lord who received them keeps you, keeps the people who remember you, and keeps the promise that love is stronger than death.

If you are walking through that changed world, this was written for you. May it honor what you have lost, bless those who still remember you, and leave you with hope that does not fade.

— The Poet

When both who gave me breath have gone before,
the world itself seems tilted, thin, and strange.
Their room is empty on that quiet floor;
the hallway looks the same, and yet is changed.

No voice now answers “child” down that hall,
no thinning hand to bless or hold me fast.
The ordinary light feels spare as air;
the future stretches, emptied of the past.

Yet death is not the master of this night:
they live in Christ, whose promise cannot fail.
He spoiled the grave and flung the door to light;
and love outlives the flesh that once grew frail.

We mourn, but not as those who mourn in vain;
in Christ they live, and we shall meet again.