A baby was born, all things were new.
With my tiny hand in yours, you whispered “God, thank
you.”
As a kid we kneeled side by side for bedtime
prayer.
With hands folded gently, we thanked God for being there.
Twelve was too old for me to hold your hand.
So you let go and asked God to fill me with faith and
firmly stand.
By the time my hands were on the steering wheel of a car,
I didn’t want to participate in prayer so you said them from
afar.
I was stubborn and rebellious and many mistakes were
made.
When everyone around me left, you and God always stayed.
Tired of searching for the purpose of life,
I opened my hands in surrender and thus stopped my inner
strife.
A baby was born and all things were new.
I lifted my hands to God with gratitude.
As the hands of time changed, so did mine and yours.
No matter the circumstance, I always saw your love for the Lord.
Because your life tells a story of how God has used you to help others persevere,
With your weary hand in mine I can whisper, "I’ll take it from here."
