Hands.
Hands open to rejoice or clenched ready to swing
Onto useless treasures they are want to cling
And by doing so I am made my own king.
Cursed.
Cursed they remain- these vessels are your tools
Yet a mockery they've become for the use of fools
And not a fool for you; only a wolf in sheep's wool.
Rebuild.
Rebuild the life of this broken soul
Return me again to my proper role
Remind me that day that this heart you stole.
Love.
Love of all loves, command me to my knees
Cleanse these cursed hands thinking only of me
Daily remind me, O King of eternity:
Yours are the hands that brought this life to be.
This is a poem I wrote a while ago. Yet it always comes back to me. Lately, all I keep thinking about are the mistakes I keep making. It feels as though I've been slapping God in the face. And so beings the cycle of constantly bringing myself down.
But wait.
The Lord still sweeps in and saves the day. And reminds me that I am loved. That I am on a journey. That my walk is different than anyone else's in the entire world. That though there are bumps and bruises, he sees my heart. And so eventually, as I begin to realize that he loves me despite my mishaps, it is then that my knees hit the floor.
Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
These chains will not keep me forever.
Little by little they disappear, and He appears brilliantly.
I am His. His are the hands that formed me.
Though I may fall, He lifts me up.
