To My Savior's Hands

By A student for a writing class

"Your Hands gave up what no man has ever given up before: They gave up the place by our God and Father's side, to come and offer us a chance of life.

Your Hands felt the smooth cool handle of the wood-saw. They knew the hammer and chisel by name. Your Hands became bruised and callused from the long hours of laborious carpentry in your father's shop. Hands who, with such care, formed beautiful masterpieces out of lifeless lumber. Oh... to those hands do I owe my life. Those Hands that touched a leper and made the blind man see. Hands that humbled themselves, and set the example for us, by stooping and washing your twelve disciple's feet at the last supper. Your Hands that held the little children on your lap and stroked the babies' cheeks. That fervently clasped together to pray for God's will and not your own. Your Hands that hugged the prostitutes and touched the food of tax collectors. Hands that fed the thousands of hungry people, yet made the fig tree wither.

It was your Hands that joined the hearts of millions when you carried your final piece of timber up the long dusty trail to Golgotha. Though it was your last work with wood, it was by far, your most powerful. With this ultimate task before you, your Hands were prepared. For they realized that it was for this reason that they had come into the world. Your Hands, when they knew it was time to bid farewell to this sad dominion, stretched out for one last time, and died. With nails driven deep into their precious holy palms, your Hands gave like no one has given before. Your Hands guide us through the trials and difficulties of this world. Your Hands gave us Life.