Foolish Child of a Loving Father

I do not misunderstand you God - you are my faithgful, loving, providing God; your arms, your hands, they hold me in all times and in all places. When I struggle to hold on to a thorny rotting limb, a breaking branch, you wait patiently to catch me - to envelope me into a new reality, a reality more bountiful and enriching than the old - a new reality which will teach me about abundance in ways the thorny, rotting, breaking branch could never do.

My muscles are puny, weak, irrelvant things beside the strength and rigour you offer.