father of every good and perfect gift look down upon this clay that dares to speak. i am of unclean lips and wandering feet begging for the mercy that precedes the morning do not weigh my steps against the law but cover my path with the shadow of your wing [bridge] you seek the height and i the plain, we feel the sun and brave the rain. the gardener plants a thousand seeds, to meet a thousand different needs. it is not that we choose the color of the rose or the heat of the day by our own power carnation also the snow woven and he knows the body of the one who runs and the one who rests we are diverse because his imagination is infinite and no two souls reflect (his glory at quite the same angle of light) [bridge] though you may run and i may stand, we both are held within his hand. but paths that veer from truth’s design, can never reach the home divine. i see your passion for the surge of life the storm and the strife you crave yet even the wildest sea obeys a boundary and the swiftest runner needs a finish line that holds firm there is a freedom in the fence and a safety in the well-worn way [bridge] beyond the buttercups and heat, where all the weary travelers meet. no longer two, but joined in one, beneath the light of god the son. "live the life that was written for you before the foundations of the world were laid. i do not judge the pace you keep or the flowers you gather, for i am too busy marveling that i am allowed to walk at all. may we find at the end of our separate miles that we were being carried by the same grace toward the same golden gate. i will look for you in the city where the race is over and the rest is finally, perfectly, eternal."
