Spoken Word: Hands

On the World Race, the Lord starting giving me new things to write, including spoken word. Here’s  a piece from month 10 in Latvia, written April 28th. It’s for everyone who is working through what God is calling them to next.

 

 

My Father’s hands are strong and mighty

and in them He holds the world.

My hands are tiny and clumsy and weak

and tend to drop things.

But these feeble hands like control.

What they lack in strength

they make up for in feisty persistence.

So while my Father’s hands hold the earth,

mine are scratching and clawing

and grasping

for a few palm-fulls of dirt.

So that I can stake a claim,

have my own domain,

a piece of land

my Father can’t get to.

As if by scooping up a few handfuls of earth

really makes it mine anyway.

Because He’s holding the world

and me

and realistically there’s nowhere

I can flee.

That sounds kind of scary

depending on how you see this earth-holding Father,

but as His daughter

I don’t need to be out getting dirt under my nails

filling pails

with my own plans

wearing out my hands

when He’s got a mansion

and a crown

and a wedding gown

all laid out for me.

But I can’t see it.

Because it’s down the road

and around the bend.

But that’s where he wants to send

me.

He says He’ll be

with me.

He says I’ll be

okay.

More than okay.

But I want to stay.

What’s the cost to obey?

He doesn’t say

much about the journey

or the road

or the destination.

Only that His plans for me

are good.

Only that I’ll never

be alone.

Only that as I roam

I’ll never be far from home,

Because He is my home.

Like the tabernacle in the desert

His presence moves with me.

The pillar of fire

and the pillar of cloud

a journey shroud

in mystery.

He only asks that I follow.

He’ll take care of tomorrow,

Protect me from sorrow.

Or if tears are needed

He’ll use them to water the ground He’s seeded,

producing a harvest of righteousness

ripe for the picking.

Yet here I am kicking

and screaming

and fighting again.

Desperately trying to not let Him win.

Because I guess that means I lose?

Since when are we on different sides?

I forget sometimes that we’re on the same team.

Both working toward a beautiful dream

Father, You know what’s best.

And I can find rest

in that. And You.

And I do,

but

sometimes I fear

the only thing I’m certain of.

Sometimes I question Your love

even though it’s the one constant in my life.

Hold my hand

as I follow You into the desert

Remembering that the Promised Land

is coming next

You know what’s best

You know what’s best

You know what’s best.

Forgetting the rest.

My Father’s hands are strong and mighty

and in them He holds my future.

My hands are tiny and clumsy and weak

and tend to drop things.

But right now they aren’t holding anything.

Because they’re too busy being held by my Father,

reminding me that I’m His beloved daughter.