Jesus' Hands

December 29, 2008
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I remember my time on earth,

It was a vague figment of my past- not too vivid.

My most precious memories were those spent in my mother's garden.

I lay hidden in a plethora of blue and royal purple, staring up at a pink evening night.



The Master's hands, Jesus, were busy crafting,

Oh how he loved carpentry!

Preparing a chair for the royal feast that afternoon,

My mother's death lay imminent in the skies of Heaven- her star shone brighter than all others.



His pierced hands at work,

What a sight!

A Master's Hands with hammer to nail,

He captured divine knowledge with his work.



So perfectly precise,

Elegant bones veiled behind his skin,

They were elegantly shaping and molding,

And His finished work- a masterpiece.





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