Father, take my hand.
I'm feeling not so grown up now.
Things can be so overwhelming sometimes.
I run the race set before me, and strength from somewhere else
keeps me going.
I know it is You and I am grateful.
Another hill to climb, another surprise around the bend and
I feel like I will buckle.
I can't go on.
I stop and stretch my arms to you.
I cry out that I don't know how I can keep going.
You say, "Stop. You can stop. It doesn't mean you're not in the race anymore.
You compete against no one.
You're running your own race to the finish, so
stop.
It's ok."
So I do.
I sit on the Rock beside me and tears stream down my face.
My strength is depleted and I have nothing left.
"It's ok," my Father's voice is kind and gentle.
He sits beside me and I lean on Him, tears still falling.
The sun breaks through the clouds and I notice there is peace in the silence.
He smiles at me, and brushes away a tear from my face.
"I save these for you," He says and my tear is held in his hand.
"Come. We don't have to run."
I look in His eyes.
He does understand.
Father, it's so hard some days.
"I know."
He doesn't say anything, but takes my hand.
"I'm with you."
I know I'm not alone.
As difficult as the course may seem,
He holds my hand and runs with me.
When I need to slow down, he walks beside me.
When I need to stop, he is there to restore me.
Father, take my hand.
He says, "I'm here. I will never let you go."
Once again, I take one step at a time,
one breath at a time.
I can do this.
My Father is with me.
