Hands

I know I can try and do things myslf. In fact, I really like to. I like to be in control and know what's happening. I like crafting my own life. But in fact, God reminds me that it's his nail-scarrd hands that want to fashion me, change me and mould me into somehing more beautiful, more loving, more like Him. This poem is about hands.

Hands

I created my life with hands of steel
I chose to stand and never kneel
Though I kept my hand on the driver's wheel
I easily lost my way.

I created my life with hands of silk
My problems slid by, they held no ilk
But I never cared enough to milk
The best of every day.

I created my life with hands of stone
I held onto all that I could own
I succeeded in life, but cold and alone
No-one ever stayed for long.

Then He crafted my heart with hands of love
Each sharp, rough edge he smoothed away
He took these hands that loved to craft
An taught them simply how to hold.

He took these hands and held them close,
Enfolded in a Father's palms
He taught this restless heart to calm
To love to walk, hand in hand,
Now together we stand.

Now he shapes my heart and crafts my life,
Though hese hands do itch to work
I'd rather follow the craftsman's lead
And see justs how he works.