OUTSTRETCHED ARMS
“Up, Oma, up,” and his arms seemed to say “Carry me, hold me, let me cuddle awhile. I’ve played long enough with these toys on the floor!” I lift him up with a hug and a smile. My arms open wide for a loving embrace. He stays but a minute, secure once again. Then he slips off my lap, his new world a’ waiting But he makes time for a hug now and then. When as my Father’s child, I go to Him in prayer I, too, stretch my arms up, wanting Him near. He carries me, calms me, comforts, and heals. I tell Him I love Him; I have no more fear. He holds me and I get a different perspective. I’m safe, protected, here nothing can harm. The world with its toys will soon enough beckon! All my needs are met in His Almighty Arm. Oft though, like a child, I still do wrong I’m not yet mature, full-grown, or complete. I say ‘no’ when it’s clear that His way is the best, And my stubborn pride won’t admit to defeat. He’s a good Father; He’s patient and waits, As I learn t...