The bloke up the road

As I drove by you stood at your door.

Not really standing, but leaning…forlorn.

Your head pressed against the brickwork, your feet wide apart.

I could tell all was not right, I could feel your pained heart.

Yet I had had a busy day and was speeding to get home,

Whilst you had been on the drink again, wallowing in your shame.

***********

Ian I saw you standing there and turned the other way…..

All I can say now my friend is sorry – didn’t know it would be your last day.

For 3 years I walked past your home

A few 100 metres from mine.

Your chair placed in the driveway so you could see the road.

I saw your daily habit, chain smokin and hitting booze.

I knew your mum was a J Dub-ya, but still she hoped and prayed.

So I got the nerve to meet ya, and to say gedday my friend.

You asked if I was a preacher, you asked if I was a priest….

Don’t know how you saw my Saviour, but glad you recognised Him …at least.

But each day I would see you, you grew worse and worse and worse….

My prayers went unanswered, my faith grew weak and dim.

Ian, I miss your drunken face man….I miss seeing you there….

You died before age 50….with hardly anyone who knew you or cared.

But there shall be a resurrection, there shall be a raising up,

And you my friend shall see Him –your Redeemer and your Judge.

And I know the heart of Jesus and I know His loving care,

For He was carrying you Ian, even in your mess and despair.

And the One who carried you caringly

Is the One who died for you

His mercy is unfailing and His kindness always new.

So Ian my Aboriginal brother,

On His breast your head shall lay

You shall see the face of Jesus and know His comfort and His rest.


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