Theres a Ladder in the Field

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[Verse 1] They called me strange for leaving doors unlocked, For giving without keeping what it cost, For lifting names when mine went unannounced, For pouring out and never keeping count. They searched my hands for hidden strings and chains, An unpaid debt beneath the offered grace, Because this world believes that every gift Must leave the giver standing over it. [Pre-Chorus] Charity with cameras, Mercy dressed for praise, Every open hand conceals An invoice to be paid. [Chorus] Your gift does not threaten mine, Your growth does not leave me behind, Your dignity needs no measure, Your joy is not my shame. We were never made as ladders, Never born as stepping stones, We belong within one garden— Every field belongs to God. [Verse 2] It starts around the table in the home— Who gets the blessing, who is left alone? Then follows us to offices and streets, Where every friend becomes someone to beat. Even our rest becomes another race: The brightest room, the most remembered face. We turn our lives to windows dressed for show, While roots beneath us wither down below. [Pre-Chorus] Kindness with conditions, Shelter bought with chains, Love that calls itself a gift Then takes it back in claims. [Chorus] Your gift does not threaten mine, Your growth does not leave me behind, Your dignity needs no measure, Your joy is not my shame. We were never made as ladders, Never born as stepping stones, We belong within one garden— Every field belongs to God. [Verse 3] One planted where the earth was split and dry, One carried water underneath the burning sky. Neither one commanded roots to breathe, Neither placed the living in the seed. So let the planter labor and depart, Let someone else pour water on the heart. The fruit may rise beyond their mortal eyes— The Gardener alone can give it life. [Bridge] “Why would you protect them? They were never yours. Why would you defend them Without reward?” The Gardener looked upon The overlooked outside And answered from eternity: “They are Mine. They are Mine. Before you drew your borders, They were Mine. Every stranger at your table, Every child you pushed aside, Every soul you would not shelter— They are Mine.” [Breakdown] A ladder needs somebody underneath. A throne survives by teaching us to compete. But gardens never conquer— They receive. No root drinks alone. No branch owns the rain. No flower steals the sunlight By calling another’s beauty shame. [Final Chorus] Your gift does not threaten mine, Your growth does not leave me behind, Your dignity needs no measure, Your joy becomes my praise. We were never made as ladders, Never born as stepping stones, We belong within one garden— Every field belongs to God. Your life is not my property, Your love is not my prize, I was only called to water What the Gardener made rise. [Outro] I planted. You watered. God gave the growth. I sheltered. You remembered. God brought them home. And when the fruit outlives us, When our names have left the vine, The Gardener will still remember: “They were always Mine.”