God Bless the Moon

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“Trina, are you awake?”

I rolled over and squinted at the clock. 3:30 a.m. Adrenaline slammed into my brain, my feet hit the floor, and I ran to the other end of the house. “Dad, are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” he whispered. “Sorry to bother you, but could you get me a drink of water?”

A diabetic for forty years, Dad sometimes had insulin reactions that woke him in the middle of the night. The baby monitor by his bed allowed him to call me anytime. Trudging to the kitchen, I wondered why it couldn’t wait until 5 a.m. I was thankful to be able to take care of Dad in my home, but the mental and physical exhaustion was taking a toll on me. The baby monitor was a blessing, but his every move woke me.

Dad took a sip of water before handling it back to me. He patted the bed, indicating he wanted me to sit. I let out a hushed sigh, rubbed the back of my neck and settled in at his feet. “What’s up, Dad?”

“I had a dream about your sister, Tammy. She had a beautiful baby girl.”

“You mean she adopted a little girl?”

“No, no she gave birth to the child. It was so real but the strange thing is,” he paused and looked me in the eye, “I was in heaven looking down on her and my granddaughter.”

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t ready to lose my Dad and the thought paralyzed me with fear. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I reached for his frail hand and muttered, “Dad, I wish Tammy could have a baby but the chances are slim. Besides she’s almost forty. Why don’t you get some sleep, and we’ll talk about this at breakfast.”

Unable to go back to sleep, I listened to his irregular breathing and prayed for him. When morning came, life kicked back into high gear. I had kids to get to school and business concerns. Much to my regret, we never talked about the baby again.

Almost every evening, Dad and I sat on the porch and watched the day slip into darkness. As the sun settled behind the horizon and the yellow moon floated into a star studded sky, we reminisced. Often my husband or one of our three boys joined us. The two older boys had a habit of drifting away, but my youngest son, Drew, was captured by the spell. He sat on a stool at his grandfather’s feet and listened intently as my father talked.

One night as the moon appeared, Dad reached over, ruffled Drew’s hair and said, “I see the moon. The moon sees me. God bless the moon. God bless you and me.”

These simple words became a nightly ritual between Drew and his Papaw, one I found myself looking forward to night after night.

Sooner than I wanted, Dad was gone. Life forever changed for us all when this gentle man was no longer a physical part of our daily lives. I struggled to find peace in my heart, but I missed him greatly. My husband put the baby monitor away, we no longer sat on the porch in the evenings, and there was no nightly ritual of “God Bless the Moon.”

A couple of years after Dad passed away, Tammy called with startling news. At forty, she was expecting a baby. Her miracle child was born in the spring, and we all welcomed Kalena into our hearts and arms with great joy.

One evening, two-year old Kalena climbed into Drew’s lap.

“Look Cousin Dewsey,” she said, pointing at the window where the moon rose above the horizon.

Drew looked at the moon and without hesitation said, “I see the moon. The moon sees me. God bless the moon. God bless you and me.”

I hadn’t heard those words for over four years and it instantly took me back to those evenings on the porch. Life was hectic back then, but I’m thankful that we always made time to sit in the dark and watch a glorious moon rise. On those nights, the torch was passed from grandfather to grandson to carry the old stories and traditions into the next generation.

by Katrina Donnell Kimble

Katrina is a writer of inspirational stories and Christian Fiction. She is the co-owner of a plastic manufacturing company in Canyon. Visit her website at www.kdkimble.com.

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