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