Those Hands

            by Sally Meyer ?2000

            2000 years have come and gone since that silent and holy night.

            The eve of the birth of our Savior, a day that would bring new
            light.

            There sat Mary in the quiet stable, caressing her newborn babe.

            Hardly more than a child, herself, giving birth in a cold, dark
            cave.

            Gently unwrapping the little boy, unwinding swaddling bands.

            His tiny fingers encircled her own as she stroked his little hands.

            She must have asked herself and smiled, "What will these hands do
            someday?"

            "Will they farm the earth or build a house? Will they work with
            chisel or clay?"

            How could she know as she tickled his fingers and counted them, one
            to ten.

            The things they would do, in a few short years, to bless the lives
            of men?

            The angel had told of His deity and His part in God's sacred plan.

            But she couldn't know just where He would go or what He would do
            with those hands.

            As a boy in Joseph's carpenter shop, they would use a hammer and
            saw.

            Then on the shores of Galilee, break bread as He taught God's law.

            How many times from cradle to cross would those hands change the
            lives of men.

            As He healed from the bed and raised from the dead and forgave them,
            time and again.

            He would use His grown up hands to pull a child to His knee.

            Fingers would wipe a tear from an eye, apply mud so a man could see.

            Those hands would be clasped in tearful prayer in Gethsemane's
            Garden, alone.

            Then nailed to a cross on Calvary's Hill, His endless love to show.

            To save us from death, He'd give His life. His innocent blood would
            spill.

            He would cross the veil to His father's arms, His part in the plan
            fulfilled.

            At Christmas time and all year through, remember who set us free.

            With broken heart and outstretched hands, He bids us, "Come to me."

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