In My Father's Arms
I remember the first time my own Dad took me down to the shore or the ocean. I remembered how powerful the arms were that held me. Powerful enough to make my fear of the ocean’s roar and bigness disappear.
That came back to me as I stood back while Andy hoisted our grandson Luke to his shoulder and took him to see the ocean for the first time, except it was not just the ocean that spoke to me as I noticed all the crosses formed by the pier, and I saw a father and child as God holding me and never dropping me in the cross moments of our life.
In my Father’s arms I was lifted high
Close to His heart I could touch the sky
For dad was like God and could silence waves roar
And tame all my fears on ocean’s shore
For nothing could touch me or cause me harm
As a child I was safe in my Father’s arms.
From my Father’s arms the years brought a day
When far from His heart I wandered away
Dad was not God but just the old man
I mocked at his wisdom and questioned his plan
A proud adolescent with a mind of his own
My Father’s arms I’d completely outgrown.
To my Father’s arms born-again I returned
Back to His heart from the wilderness learned
That pier’s weathered crosses were moments He bore
My sea-tossed rebellion when He loved me more
For now I’m a father, he’s not God or old man
In my Father’s arms He became my best friend.
That came back to me as I stood back while Andy hoisted our grandson Luke to his shoulder and took him to see the ocean for the first time, except it was not just the ocean that spoke to me as I noticed all the crosses formed by the pier, and I saw a father and child as God holding me and never dropping me in the cross moments of our life.
In my Father’s arms I was lifted high
Close to His heart I could touch the sky
For dad was like God and could silence waves roar
And tame all my fears on ocean’s shore
For nothing could touch me or cause me harm
As a child I was safe in my Father’s arms.
From my Father’s arms the years brought a day
When far from His heart I wandered away
Dad was not God but just the old man
I mocked at his wisdom and questioned his plan
A proud adolescent with a mind of his own
My Father’s arms I’d completely outgrown.
To my Father’s arms born-again I returned
Back to His heart from the wilderness learned
That pier’s weathered crosses were moments He bore
My sea-tossed rebellion when He loved me more
For now I’m a father, he’s not God or old man
In my Father’s arms He became my best friend.