As children we played, in all the fun we had made.
Though it be dirt, our elders thought more work.
For what you do, Heavenly Father,
thank you, for playing as my younger brother,
Grasping something out of nothing,
forming miracles into everything.
Not of a toy that we shared,
Set up and stolen on a dare.
Undisturbed area upon the earth,
all the effort of no worth.
Angry, crying to say the least,
holding my tongue, or become a beast.
Days after I believed I knew,
as a child of what eventually comes over you.
Knowing we are not yet strong,
we attempt to correct what is wrong.
Time wears and shows no pain,
as a child, our thoughts don’t gain.
Thinking back upon that time,
what was given wasn’t truly mine.
Throughout the ages, lessons learned,
hardened my heart, I should discern.
Yes, God does love me,
I know it’s never too late
to play as a child at God’s Gate.
(This poem was submitted by David Roettgen, a participant in the Christian Life Program at City Union Mission.)
