5 Just as you do not know the path of the wind or how the bones are made of a child yet to be born, so you do not know the work of God Who makes all things.
You’ve seen them, up high, heads above the crushing crowd, held secure and safe riding upon shoulders of their protective fathers, squealing in glee as they take in the sights and sounds from their elevated perches.
Lately it seems that the jostling to and fro by the masses, the kicks and stepping on the back of my shoes by the masses that trampled my feet, and knocked me about, disoriented and juggled me so I don’t remember where I was traveling.
I am fed up. I am tired. I am on the verge of tears or a flat-out, full-blown tantrum but instead I fall back remembering that I know exactly what to do. I turn, raise my arms, tear streaked face and hands like a child and say “up”. Lift me up Poppa, shield me from this onslaught. Protect and aid me through this madness. Allow me to ride upon your shoulders until You have shown me the wonders You have for me to see. Lord, I am depending on You to guide, protect and direct me, and for you to place me where I am to be when the coast is clear.
Making His praise glorious!
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