Hands

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Inspired during "Divine Service"

One rusty nail once pierced my hand
Salt, blood, pain, I could not bear
The cost, playing brave yet lost;

Klim and sugar my hands did steal
I was a thief not waiting for my meal.

My hands once penned god-awful words
Pointing to one I traced, one still of worth.

My hands have labored like a giant
Cloaked in child's clothing; I could not say I can't.

My hands have held new life I've borne as friend
Lord knows, I needed caring hands, and then
I crossed bridges, ocean waters; my flight came to an end.

My hands have tried reaching up
They've been misled, held by hands filling their own cup.

My hands I've clasped in prayer during rain
I've strayed, and played, could speak of mighty pain
But my hands weren't tied, never chained.

Mine were the hands taking a stand with willing feet
When on a snowy morning, the Savior I did meet.

He appeared as blessings in disguise
His smile seemed warm; something clouded my eyes
Until His invisible touch reshaped my mind's eyes.

He told me His hands were pierced, and as He bled
He humbly bowed, and bled, and died in my stead;

So that I could live anew, and share what my Savior did do.

Now, these hands won't hesitate to pen...
He still holds my hand as dearest of friend.

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Darlene Gifford

Date: 7/4/2015 9:39:00 PM

What a beautiful poem about hands. His hands, your hands. God gives us hands and hearts to serve others, too. But using our hands to praise him is, I think, the best use of hands. Thanks, also for reading my haiku.~~Darlene

Iris E. Sankey- Lewis
Date: 7/5/2015 6:40:00 PM