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Poem

To God I am thankful for many gifts;
But none more than a creative mind,
And the hands which are the finest tool,
With abilities to create that I easily can find.

As a child I first learned to cherish
My God-given opposable thumb,
Knowing how versatile a device
It is for whacking a fortuitous homerun.

And stubby fingers were early to meet,
And with artistic freedom employ,
All the many vividly colored crayons
To make graphic forms and scenes to enjoy.

And off running into the world of nature,
My hands kept quite busy in work and play.
Without them I found that I couldn’t climb
Nor protect myself in the occasional fray.

My hands loved to tighten and repair my bike,
Seeming to be a mechanic of special training,
Taught by a higher intelligence unknown
For handling every task without complaining.

With maturity the hand becomes more adept,
A magical marvel for all creation to behold.
And in God’s world of many forms to grasp,
It becomes an unique gift worth more than gold.

Then you find there’s nothing your hands can’t do,
‘Cause God has made them in His special way,
With the same loving care you make toys for a child,
Who might find nothing any better for hours of play.

We need to show God that we feel very blessed,
That He was the architect of this precious treasure;
So that we may join with Him in majestic fashion,
Giving the world with fervent impact endless pleasure.

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