Hands

"Come to Me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest"

Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

Hands

My hands are full

Of things

Things that distract

And dismay, things

That mar and overwhelm

Things

Good things, bad things

Things that I love, and

Things that I have to do

Things that pile way

Above my eyes and then

I can’t see

I trip, I fall, and

Crash.

Things lay strewn

On the ground.

I amongst them

Broken and bleeding.

I pick my humanity back up and

I see my things forlorn.

I want to take them again into my ability

But, my hands are red with injury.

I worry that the things that I have cared for

And carried for so long will turn to ash and fall a part.

But, no.

They lay there, perfect, fine,

And my pride, once convinced that these things

Needed me, dies a little inside.

Look at them, lying like Lego pieces

Upon the floor.

I look at my hands, that

Once built tall things

Grand things,

Respected and delightful things

Over years of go and no stopping.

Things from here

And there, some I wonder

Why are even there.

Or why I ever cared to carry them

In the first place.

I see my hands, now empty

Light, bloody.

I stare at them, where

My constructed identity

Once lay, now just empty of the things I

Idol, I want for a time

To see them full again

But, I catch my breath

And fold my hands to hide

The stains.

God use me, I don’t understand.

My hands are now empty,

Who am I? Damaged? Failure?

Come and heal me now! My

Demands of return

Hit the roof and melt like waxwings

Towards the sun.

Why? Don’t You hear me? I am

Confused and scared.

What will become of my kingdom?

I feel lonely and alone.

I try to mentally plan a plan to plan

To get things

Looking okay again.

Then, as if the roof

A mirror did see, two hands

Outstretched towards me-

Two hands also broken, bleeding, empty.

They take my hands, broken, bleeding, empty

We have matching fingerprints

And they write “I know you and I can use

These hands, perfect in a moral light of

Imperfection. I look at your hands

And they are perfect for what I need them to do.

Let Me fill them first.

I had to empty them, though it hurt, because you

Wouldn’t stop filling them with things.

I want to fill them with Me.”

I see my hands, empty, and I lift them up,

They fill with Him.