I’m unqualified to write about fatherhood,
I have enough trouble just being a son;
Yet the thought is one that weighs heavily on the mind…
I realise I’m caught in a cycle where sons become fathers:
How would it feel to have a son today,
Who treats me like I treated my father yesterday,
And treats his son tomorrow like I treat him today – blessing or curse?
I’ve hungered and thirsted for expression;
Let Your manifest presence descend and remain,
Even as our worship ascends in harmony;
For You abide in the praises of Your people,
And are faithful and merciful, gracious and mighty.
I’ve been charged with being unworthy;
Unneeded, unwanted even before birth;
Destined, not for this life or the next;
Overstaying my welcome; Overextending my reach;
Overestimating myself; Misappropriating resources;
Underplaying my flaws; Overemphasizing Grace.
I admit that I’m guilty;
But guilty of nothing but being loved, wanted, saved,
Appreciated, needed, understood, celebrated, precious;
Guilty of having to leave too soon; Underestimating myself;
Under-using Grace; Abusing my strengths; Hiding behind my flaws;
Sabotaging and badly misjudging the extent of my reach.
In solemn silence, I wait and listen to hear You speak;
With intellectual sobriety, I consider Your words as they bring me wisdom;
In solemn silence, and eager patience, I wait for the manifestation of Your miracles;
In solemn silence, where Your spirit empowers, I bear to overcome;
In solemn silence, Your intentions are made known – loud and clear;
My Pride is He who hears me when I cry in distress;
Reaches out His hand to pull me from this sea of misery;
Cleanses me of iniquity with His blood;
Calls me His own and makes me His heir.
I find it quite interesting,
That time in all its uniqueness,
Can at once be seen as the most expensive thing we have,
And taken as the cheapest thing there is.