Outdoors, she watched the children as they played.
Her youngest ran with them, though he was small.
She worried that their games might be too rough.
Would they protect him should he trip and fall?

Then, on a jagged rock, he scraped his hand.
The older ones played on; they did not see
The crying child, but Mother saw and called,
With open arms extended, "Run to me!"

When I am overwhelmed by hurt and pain
And wearied by the battles I must fight,
When grief of wrenching loss pervades my heart,
And shadows cover me, when all seems night,

Then, like that little child in games too rough,
I find no help from those who do not see.
But Jesus sees my plight; with love He calls,
His nail-scarred Hands extended, "Run to Me!"