The Road To February

 The Road to February

He marked the date and closed his eyes,

A distant land, a hidden prize.

February whispered soft and real,

A pull he could not help but feel.

But months before the ticket’s name,

The world leaned hard, the fire became flame.

Work piled up, the hours grew long,

Every step forward felt somehow wrong.

Money tightened like a clenched fist,

Bills lined up, no room to miss.

A newborn cried through sleepless nights,

Love was full—but heavy the fights.

His wife spoke truth with fear, not blame,

“A child needs you—this isn’t a game.”

Her words cut deep, not sharp but fair,

Responsibility thick in the air.

Inside his heart the question burned,

Is this desire selfish or earned?

He didn’t answer, didn’t pretend,

He went instead—to the Ten, his friends.

He didn’t ask for coins or ease,

He asked for strength, for what to see.

He laid it bare, the doubt, the load,

The fear of failing both paths he rode.

They didn’t promise, didn’t plan,

They held his heart like only friends can.

They raised the goal, the why, the flame,

Reminded him he’s not alone in the pain.

And time moved on, as time will do,

Still unclear—but something grew.

Extra hours, unexpected calls,

Walls gave way that once stood tall.

Work aligned without demand,

Money showed up—not in his hand,

But right on time, exact, precise,

Like mercy dressed in normal life.

And then one night, no lesson taught,

No argument, no pressure brought,

His wife sat down, looked in his eyes,

And love replaced the old replies.

She said, “I see what this means to you,

I see what it pulls your heart to do.

You should go—Israel is your place,

I won’t stand in love’s way.”

He didn’t cheer, he didn’t speak,

Tears fell quiet, strong and weak.

Not victory, not being right—

Just gratitude flooding the night.

For the road was hard, the cost was real,

Every doubt something he had to feel.

But nothing was forced, nothing torn,

Only faith refined, reshaped, reborn.

And as February drew near at last,

He packed not escape—but a path.

Carrying pressure, joy, and fear,

Knowing the Creator was already there.

Not waiting in Israel, not far away—

But in every step that led him that way.