Thursday, July 7, 2011

His Hands

I try to imagine the smooth hands that sculpts this clay. Clay that represents the imperfect me. Smoothing out the rough spots, working out the kinks.

The hands that are keeping track of the clock on the wall, ticking the time. Pressings each second into a minute each minute filling the hour. Hours that turn into days, days that become years. Years that become a lifetime and yet His hands still shape this clay.

His hands never give up and never become restless. Oh, the work they have before them yet they continue to knead and refine me.

When I cry out to Him, His hands wipe my tears and collect them in a jar. When I am weak His hands hold me. When I am strong enough to walk His hand grasps mine.

When I am imperfect, He forgives me. His hands don't give up as they continue to transform me. When I am hurt or have hurt a loved one, His hands reach out to them and me.

Reminding me that He is the third part of this cord that holds us together, imperfect yet perfectly. His hands lift us and place our feet on solid ground.

I imagine His hands guiding us down this road. His hands lead the way, pick us up when we fall wipe our knees and offer more than a band aid. His hands heal.

The grace in which His hands move. Strong like a father, loving like a mother and soft like a child. The smooth hands that sculpt this clay.

Although I can't see them, I can feel them as my hand slips into His.His Hands.

I am thankful that I know God has His hands on me... shaping this imperfect clay.

Image Credit Sharing with Thankful Thursday at Spiritually Unequal Marriage and Spiritual Sundays

Isaiah 64:8 "Yet you, LORD, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. "