I sat and wrote a letter to God
I asked for my regular life, my share
I wanted fame and a measure of glory
Some time to reflect and some time to delay
Some little peace, some thoughtful moments,
Not much Oh god. For not much did I pray.

I sat and wrote a missive to god,
The pink bloom of youth still on my cheek
I thought that my longing was not too exquisite
With promise that what I was given I’d share
Surely not more than I thought I was heir to
Surely not much for a God who would care.

I stashed the list away in my pocket
And went about living and filling my life
With everything that was laid out before me
Not conscious of space or the passing of time
I rambled and rumbled, took chances and daydreamed
Stole kisses and fondled the pedals of life
Not really stopping to re-read the letter
Just trusting in earnest it would all work out right.

Time is a mischievous wisp of a plaything
It passed without letting me know I was there
One day a lad sitting lone on a footstool
The next day a father myself I became
And all the things I’d written to God for
Were laid before me in simple array

They were not the fame and measure of Glory
Not all the things from my letter that day
Just a small baby, his gaze looking upward
Just a new soul placed now in my care
To treasure, to rapture, to hold and to cherish
My child, His answer to my simple prayer.