Reflections
My Hands
Posted on September 13, 2018 | Posted by Annie Saunders
My hands are clumsy, they drop things a lot.
My hands are cracked, they require a good lotion every morning and night.
My hands are small, they have trouble carrying things (probably part of the reason why they’re clumsy).
My hands are unmanicured, no pretty polish adorns them and chipped or uneven nails are commonplace.
My hands have scars and callouses, one in particular that I’ve inherited from years of a pencil resting against my left finger.
When I’m bored, or nervous, or some weird combination of the two—my hands tend to fidget and play with the rings placed upon my fingers.
My hands alone, aren’t much to look at.
But You call my hands to be more, to do more.
Your call makes my hands clench in determination,
Your call makes my hands shake under the weight of expectation.
Your call leads my hands to join others, to do your will.
Your call encourages my hands to clean-up impoverished streets, paint benches, pull weeds, tie quilts, offer reassurance, embrace empathy, and pass peace.
With Your call,
My hands are strong.
With Your call,
My hands reach for salvation.
My hands get dirty, they slip, and they get scraped,
But they’re capable of anything.
Because You call my hands to do your work.
