I am the weaned child,
Upon Your knee.
Forgetful of time,
I curl Your hair about my fingers,
And tug at Your heartstrings.
My toys, the shiny objects of yesterday,
Lie by the stairs,
By which I began my ascent to You.
Comfort me.
Cuddle me.
Tickle me.
You spend Your universe,
As You had always planned,
Delighting one so small,
The least of the Children of Man.
© 2012 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 
Oh, I just love this poem. Being a child in the hands of God has really come to the forefront for me in the past couple of years. This is such a beautiful picture of a loving relationship with Abba.
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I’m glad it speaks to you, Barb. I love the Little Flower for her faith in God loving and using her littleness and lifting her up to His cheek, her elevator to His Heart.
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