The Season
I paced along the sidelines, watching every game
Looking for my chances, to cheer out loud his name
I watched him run and dive, grabbing at a flag.
Sometimes he came up empty, sometimes he came up glad.
And every game once or twice, they'd let him run the ball
He'd twist and turn and run with might, sometimes he'd even fall.
And when the final whistle blew, to end that final night
I looked upon his face again, but saw no smile in sight.
Although he'd tried his hardest, and left the season sore
He hadn't met his goal that year, to cross the line and score.
My heart it started breaking as I searched in vain for words
To comfort him and tell him, "Ah scoring's for the birds."
But as I sat and thought that night, still feeling for his heart
The Savior reached inside my own, and whispered this to start,
Well done thou faithful servant, tell him this for me
He'd done just what I'd asked of him, let him know you see.
It really doesn't matter, how many points you score
What really counts in my big book is something worth much more.
Let him know I watched his games, each and every play
I saw his hands were clapping, his voice would always say,
"Good job, great catch Noah, nice try, good effort Brent
Great hands, nice grab Jackson, almost, we'll get 'em Kent."
He even stopped to help I saw, his foes across the line
Who'd fallen hard and wrenched too far, their tender little spine.
Now when at last his day is done, he'll stand before my face
My words won't turn to touchdowns, for points don't win this race.
You my servant Harrison, who didn't get to score
You spent your life in service, lifting others off the floor.
My hands will grab his shoulders, and pull him in so tight
And at that moment he will see, he'd played the season right.
