Hands

I sit in this pew Wooden and slick And I look down at my hands The pastor is preaching but I don’t hear her I’m looking at my hands Lost in a tsunami of random thought Theses hands are a miracle in themselves One thousand or more lines cover them Nails sprout out the tops of the long phalanges The palm A cushy, resilient padding Was pink with cold While the top half of my hands Merge to brown They connect to arms The arms connect to a torso The torso connects to legs and A neck And The neck to a head The words from the pastor Filter back into my consciousness ‘Be glad he hath blown life Into you enough To last Another day’ And I understand My life is a miracle It’s a creation It’s a game It’s a movie It is His own agenda My body is borrowed While I am here I need to do his work The longer I wait The longer it takes For me to find Peace So I stand up And raise my hands I say ‘Look at these hands Look at this body Our hands and bodies shall pass in time And at any moment We could perish So take these hands and these bodies God And do what You will with them Give me the responsibility to do As You will I am the bulb and You are the energy To light me Use me for I am putty Awaiting Your love to shape me Use me for I am here To serve You Use me and my hands To build Your creations My hands are Yours to conduct My hands Are Your hands I am created in Your image for a reason In Your image so that You may easily take my body And help it do what it was made for’ When I am finished Tears are flowing down my face And I wipe them away With His hands