Hands of a Maker

The hands that sketched horizon’s perfected lines,
Reveal millions of stars each day the sun hides,
Hold the planets in the boundless space of the universe
As instantaneous meteors through the atmosphere traverse

The hands that painted nature’s breathtaking shades of green,
Control the current of both intermittent and ephemeral streams,
Attached the pure white cotton candy clouds in the sky,
Command all creatures that crawl, walk, hop and fly

The hands that interweaved you and me in our mother’s wombs,
Formed the shape of our eyes—may it be narrow or as wide as a full moon,
Map the direction in which way to go, ensuring the safety of our brakes
And align our path back when we make a wrong turn towards poisonous snakes

The hands that hold the pen and paper of the story of our lives,
Gently rub our backs for comfort as we cry and sigh,
Carry our weak bodies in the midst of this life’s battles
As He guarantees our victory against the world’s scoundrels

The hands that are wrapped in fulfilled promises and healing
A pair of deified hands that I will one day (for eternity) be holding
Yes Your hands that were pierced in holes simply because of your love
Which I do not deserve at all. It’s amazing, my Maker’s hands.