A son aches, and there's nothing I can do.
There is no kiss. There is no touch. There's not a stitch or salve I can apply.
It's a part of growing. Stretching. Becoming more-a-man and less-a-boy.
But it hurts to watch him hurt.
And helpless stings the most.
God, there's hurt that I can't mend.
That is why I'm here.
There's empty that I can't fill.
That is why I'm close.
There are questions I can't answer and places I can't go.
That is why I sent my Son. So your son can come to me.
I want to mend his struggle.
I'm the One to bind his wounds.
I want to give him hope.
I'm the Giver of life.
I want him to have joy.
And life with me is abundant and full.
I release him, Lord.
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7