My Father Cried for Joy

I was just a young boy

Oh so conscious of my sin

Deep and dark and troubled

At the bad son I had beenÖ

And when I heard the preacher

Tell me of the good news

My white knuckled resistance

Faded from all view

Though I 'd heard the story

So many times before

This time it came home to me

And shook me to the core

And standing there at the side

Of that wide eyed wondering boy

My father stood there shaking

Weeping tears of Joy.

He stood there beside me

On my shoulder was His hand

His son was now his brother

Though I didn't understand

I often wonder that I was so blessed

That I had sense to enjoy

The blessing of a father

Who could weep those tears of joy.

Anthony Foster

May 15, 2006