Hands healed, but scarred through and through,
from the brutal force of nails driven onto the wooden timbers.
The visual reflection that remains in the vast river of life
when we focus our thoughts upon those hallowed grounds.
Hands that hold closely the baby to a mother's breast
nurturing the miracle of God's provenance; being reflected
through the innocence of a newborn child of God.
Hands cupped, dipping into the cold, crystal clear water
flowing from mountains to seas
connecting to the Source of the overflowing gift of His Love -
A gift that cascades down ... still eons later.
A pure, abundant, never-ceasing life source.
Hands comforting the heavily burdened shoulder
of a loved one who just heard those seemingly
life-threatening words, "your cancer is malignant."
Hands held open seeking immediately
His healing embrace and Grace.
Hands time-worn creased with wrinkles
reflect the life of a hardworking man
reverently placing a palm against palm,
while on bended knee, sends praises of thanks
of a long well-lived life.
Hands: Mankind's Story
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