Let Him speak, you have to let go. I was young, but now I am grown. Not always will we have to know The path that lines ahead or where We each will go next. On His throne He who numbers each strand of hair Has me safe in His hands and you
When you are jumping up and down, So excited for the next thing, Then life hits you in face and you feel you are going to drown, Don’t freak out, put your head above the water and sing.
Look up above your fears, ignore the waters. If you are focused on the crushing, rising swells How will you see beyond to the One watching over all His daughters? Don’t miss His quiet whisper because of your own yells.
When your focus is removed from the water and placed on the sky Your head tilts up and a breath of air fills your lungs. Only then can calm consume the insecurity, causing it to die.
Breathing in His presence, trusting in the moment, receive the peace that comes.
Tiny hands, free of cares, play joyfully. Worries are not their’s and never would be ideally. But life is a journey we all most travel And soon tiny hands will know more than soft dirt and gravel.
Tiny hands grow a little more each day. Slowly they begin to recognize what is coming their way. Some tiny hands get pushed faster along the path than others. Their journey, becomes difficult before their brothers’.
Tiny hands must learn how to be strong, To keep on and leave behind what’s wrong. Struggles will be rough. The traveler becomes tough.
Tiny hands with work slowly harden. Gone and forgotten are the days easy in the garden. Life now demanding, Would he yet be standing?
Tiny hands no longer small and cheery. Tiny hands now rough and weary. Callused hands now carry on. Callused hands now conceal a yawn.
Callused hands forget to fold, Prayers are only for the young and the old. Love is being left behind. Unaware, he becomes blind.
Tiny hands, new and free of cares, Come to wipe away unnoticed tears. Slipping dearly into old callused hands, Soft hands gently seek to understand.
Tiny hands quietly leading, Patch the heart that has been bleeding. Folding together with callused hands, Softly to aid the old who now stands, And slowly begins to raise His own once more in praise.