If I had the opportunity to choose my own father,
I wouldn’t choose him because of his wealth,
Or because of his looks – not colour, hair, gait, height or weight;
I wouldn’t choose him because of how well read he is, but for his wisdom;
Me calling you ‘father’ is a heavy responsibility I lay at your feet,
Which you take with grace.
Like incense, let the fragrance of this sacrifice of worship rise
Beyond the reach of my voice and words, even my thoughts and imaginations.
Like rain, let Your blessings fall on this parched existence I call my own
Soaking deeper than I can reach, enough to overflow, spread and stretch
Further than I can see, or hear, or broadly estimate, much less predict.