Bridge over the Chattahoochee, Highway 84 on the Alabama/Georgia line near Gordan, Alabama
The Bridge Builder
In southeastern Alabama,
Where creeks and rivers run,
My father spent his working years
Beneath the Southern sun.
He built his bridges strong and sure,
Of concrete, steel, and stone,
And led the men whose labor
Made each crossing all its own.
Across the broad Chattahoochee,
Where the river waters flow,
He helped to build a passage
For folks he’d never know.
He knew the worth of building
A way from shore to shore,
Connecting what was separated,
Opening paths where none before.
And long after his work was finished,
When his tools were laid aside,
The bridges still stand ready
To carry folks across the divide.
But long before my father
Built bridges on this land,
Another Bridge Builder
Had a far more wondrous plan.
For sin had carved a chasm
Too deep for us to cross;
No strength of ours could span it,
No wealth could pay the cost.
But God, in love and mercy,
Made a way where none had been;
Through Jesus Christ, our Savior,
He bridged the gulf of sin.
Not built of steel or concrete,
Nor fashioned out of stone,
But through the love of Jesus Christ,
Who gave His life for His own.
The cross became the bridge,
His grace became the way,
And those once lost and far from God
Could now come home to stay.
And now the work continues,
For countless people stand
Across the gulf of loneliness,
Still searching for God’s hand.
Some are lost in sorrow,
Some are bound by fear,
Some have never heard the news
That God’s great love is near.
A bridge of understanding,
Where judgment once held sway,
A bridge of hope and kindness
To help someone find their way.
We cannot be their Savior;
That work belongs to One.
But we can point them to the bridge
Made possible by God’s own Son.
My father built his bridges
For travelers yet unknown;
God built a bridge through Jesus
To bring His children home.
And now the call is ours
To share the grace we’ve known,
To build a bridge of friendship
So no one walks alone.
For every bridge built in love,
Each kindness freely shown,
May help a soul discover
The love of God not known.
My father’s work is finished,
His earthly labor done;
But the bridges he helped build still stand
Beneath the Southern sun.
And when our work is finished,
And we cross that final span,
May we meet the Master Builder
Who first reached out His hand.
And may the bridges we have built,
Through mercy, faith, and love,
Have helped some fellow traveler
Find the way to God above.