Not so long ago,

I was so very small.

I could barely sit up;

I couldn't even crawl.

 

I'd lay limp in my father's right arm

without worry of danger or thought of harm

 

 

I stayed like that for many a year

Until my father put me down and wiped away his tear.

 

He still held my hand but I needed to walk.

I needed to speak with him and learn how to talk.

 

For years I simply lay on the ground,

not moving or speaking a word.

Excited by the amazing things I had found

and imagining I was a bird.

 

I lay there on the ground,

unresponsive to his call.

He then began to walk

and me, he did hall.

 

Dragging me across the dirt,

Scratching me as I hurt.

Through some glass and down some stairs,

sharp and blunt rubbing off my hairs.

 

Then I squirmed and began to stand,

My father stopped and stretched out his other hand.

 

Helping me up, I found my feet,

no longer sitting, on my lazy seat.

 

I stood in one place for a long while,

but my father wanted to walk another mile.

 

My father moved forward and pulled me behind.

My feet did not move, set firm in my mind.

 

Back on the ground, I did fall

upset and defiant, I did ball.

 

He moved faster and faster as he went

never stopping for my consent.

 

He dragged me out and down the street,

until I stood upon my feet.

Moving my feet,

we began to run.

Getting places,

I found was fun.

 

Continuing on,

with our little walk,

he suddenly desired,

for me to begin to talk.

 

Not with baby sounds of laughter and crying.

But with understing and conversation undying.

 

My father, then asked me, what I wanted to do...

I thought, why should I speak, he already knew.

 

But my father waited, not making a sound,

I then became lonely, I suddenly found.

 

No words, but silence, lasted for that year.

Until I spoke and he let out a cheer.

 

Yet when I found a word

I spoke all day long,

and he remained silent

as prayed a continuous song.

 

One day I finally got tired of listening to myself,

I closed up my mouth and took my bible off the shelf.

 

In quietness I waited for something I could hear

His voice broke the silence and said, "I am here!"

 

When his mouth opened to speak

he had so much to say,

that I had to close my own mouth

each time I began to pray.

 

Listening and yielding has become a way of life,

which settles my soul and ends all my strife.

 

I am finding that it isn't the years that I lived,

but the trials that he brought me through

that changed me and molded me

and showed me Romans 5:2-5 is true.

 

"...we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."

Romans 5:2b-5