Waiting

When I was nine, I loved to climb, Up high in the bend of the tree. I'd hide so deep; My secrets keep, No one could see, rainfall - maybe... Being through hard and fearful times, Stealing away seemed least of crimes. Not moving - first afraid - then lone. More worried though of going home. Viewing life - was it God's design? Or randomness, should I resign? Slivers of hope compelled me on, Believing night would bring the dawn. Then maybe warmth would bathe my life, Cleansing shadows, sorrow, and strife. Those were only whispers and dreams, Things of future, yet to be seen. But for now, "then" as it were. I'd have to be content, not stir. I'd rest and wait high up with Thee, In the bend of our special tree.