I do not have a sacred grove,
there's children all around,
so when I kneel they pull my shirt
to get me to look down.
So young they do not understand
my heart has many needs;
to know just how to care for them,
these tiny little seeds.
To face my trials, real and rough,
to feel my Savior's love,
so I will know we'll be alright,
that there is help above.
We all go 'round here barefoot,
the chaos seems to reign
as tiny mouths just must be fed
and problems solved 'til I am drained.
To Moses said the Lord: "remove your shoes...
you stand on sacred ground."
That's why I go 'round barefoot--
there's children all around.
My home's my only sacred grove
for I cannot retreat
and leave these small ones to themselves,
their curiosity and bare feet.
So from my heart I pray, I cry
will God please understand?
I need him more now than ever--
will He please take my hand?
And sanctify this time to me;
this season I must give
to little ones and little else,
these days are mine to live.
This is my work, my one great work,
this family I love,
so for now this home, this time
becomes my sacred grove.
This home is not a quiet place
except at quiet hour,
and that's if things work out just right,
if attitudes aren't sour.
No sweet birds sing, or if they do,
they're difficult to hear
for arguments and whining tones
are ringing in my ear,
and if I try to be alone,
even on the pot,
the doorknob turns, and little eyes
tell me that I'm not!
Just let me know, my loving Lord,
my efforts are enough.
For what I actually accomplish
feels like little stuff.
I'm never all I'd like to be,
I barely can survive.
And most days I'd be glad
to get off work at five.
So let me know that if by chance
I ever get to be
alone with Thee on bended knee
you'll still be near to me.
Though I have failed in every way
to show to Thee my love,
because of what I do each day,
I've found this sacred grove.
I need a sacred grove.
Make my life . . .
a sacred grove.
