My Father

by Mabel Jones Gabbott

I walked too far and lost my way;

The rocks were sharp in the ocean’s spray.

And suddenly my father was there on the strand;

He called, “This way,” and we walked hand in hand.

I had practiced hard—I could hit, I could run—

But at my turn to bat, all my courage was gone.

Then I searched the crowd and found Father’s face;

He nodded, You can do it! And I made first base.

The hands were cool upon my fevered head;

I listened to the prayer my father said,

Making me well with his faith and love

And the power he holds from our Father above.

When I have a problem or a joy to share,

I look to my father, and he’s always there.

Illustrated by Ted Nagata