Please permit a mother's pride...

As I searched through papers in one of my 'keeper' boxes, a poem by daughter Cindi emerged.

All three of my wonderful daughters are now grandmothers, and I find great pleasure in being the mother of each of them.

 

Sparrow in His Hand

I'd love to fly in red-rock canyon cathedrals,

    Pinon pine and cobalt sky mine alone.

Screaming high my freedom's cry. A great eagle, looking down

    Surveying all that I own.

 

Yet I find... that I am no mighty eagle,

    But a sparrow; brown and small of wing and bone,

Perched in this place, a crowded race of this people.

    Learning to live by faith and grace alone.

 

No, I never know the power of splendid wings

    That soar wherever my desires command.

But I have found the finer measure of little things,

    And I've been taught to feed from Jesus' hand.

 

And so I sing, with joy through both pain and pleasure... And I fly,

Although my my style is not so grand.

    His smile and voice are my own dearest treasure.

Content to be the sparrow in His hand.

 

Content to be the sparrow in His hand.

    I'm privileged to be the sparrow in His hand.

(1989) Cynthia Gourley