This is the room where she’ll lay her head.

The is the table where they’ll share the bread.

This is the march where their voice will be heard. 

This is the desk where she’ll write the words. 

This is the chapel where he and she will stand. 

This is the day, hand in hand. 

This is the talk where truths will be told.

This is the town where his dreams unfold. 

This is the sunset that will paint this sky, 

before the night he says goodbye. 

These are the shoes he’ll wear to school. 

These are her instruments, these are his tools. 

This is the year... they’ll fight the cancer. 

This is the season... she’ll get the answer. 

This is the room where the baby sleeps. 

This is the floor she cleans and sweeps, 

and paces at night with a furrowed brow, 

until her THEN becomes her NOW. 

This is the vote that will decide their freedom. 

This is the car that she’ll drive to leave him. 

These are the hands... 

These are the prayers... 

This is the book...

These are the stairs... 


This is the day that waits here for you.  

Fate?... free will?... not one, but two! 

And we step out knowing, that here this day 

Is a road though rugged, yet somehow paved.  

And that was the saw, and that was the wood 

From that tree that at one time stood, 

But was then cut down, and was again raised up! 


With that Man hanging… 

drinking The Cup. 

That waited for him, and him alone,  

to drink, and on our behalf atone. 


Do I make my way, or is it Your hand that leads? 

Are these days appointed?  Am I free indeed? 

Did you struggle that Day when you were led accused 

and The Chosen Way... you didn’t have to choose? 


But You did.  And here we are. 


You and I... 


You made the way, to create the time 

that waits for me, our paths align. 


This great mystery, Oh Lord … can it be true?!! 


Our colliding… me into You!! 

Keeton CoffmanComment