Every step feels like a mile,
Every minute like a year.
Struggling through my pain, hurt, and trails,
The End is far from near.

I stumble over mountains,
And trudge through the vast valleys below.
My feet are bloody, cut, and sore;
Rocks have gnawed them to the bone.

The Path seems never-ending,
The Road goes on and on.
And just then, when all hope seems but gone,
I see a man standing in the Road,
Bright as the sun; ferocious as a lion;
Yet as kind and gentle as a friendly dandelion.

Then I, covered in dirt and blood,
Fell on my knees, feeling like I should.

“My son, look at all your bruises, cuts, and sores!
Your life has been full of hurt;
You do not need anymore.
I stood up, frail, shaking, and filled with fear.
“S-Sir? Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“The mountains are high because of my making;
The valleys are soft because of my hand;
The rain falls when I tell it to.
The thunder claps on my command.

“You could call me the Maker.
You could call me Creator.
But I am your Father, and you are my son.
I am here to walk with you till your Journey is done.
Well, come along. There is so much to do.”

“But–sir? Am I safe with you?”
He smiled and laughed.

“You’re safe with me.
Come, take my hand. There is so much to see.”

Weak and afraid, I took his hand.
The tears on my face were from bliss,
Not from pain.
My wounds were mended,
Never to be seen again.

So I went on with my Journey,
Climbing mountains, swimming seas.
But now I had a friend to guide me along.
To point me towards right, and help me shun wrong.