These Hands

These hands are tired

from packing and unpacking,

from wiping tears away

and pushing myself back up from the ashes.

 

These hands are stained

with ink from my pen

scribbling notes and quotes,

reflections and dreams.

 

These hands are folded

in prayer for compassion and courage,

hope and healing

for my life and for the world.

 

These hands are calloused

from gripping handlebars on a Sunday,

rope on a Monday

with every callous, stronger and more resilient.

 

These hands are open, just open

no longer clinging to what I once needed,

or grasping at what I imagine I want,

or pushing away what I don’t understand.

 

These hands are outstretched

to new friends found outside my comfort zone,

offering a fist bump after an impossible workout

and a shaka before climbing that last muddy hill.

 

These hands are not pretty

and these nails are not polished

any longer, for the color chipped

swiftly off in this adventure of loving life.

 

These hands are strong

enough to strike a blow when life is a battlefield,

and cling to my faith when doubt

wages war.

 

These hands are

lifting yours up when life drags you under,

reaching for yours when the darkness is too much

and behind these hands beats an open heart.

 

These hands are yours

hold them if you can.

these hands .jpg

One thought on “These Hands

  1. Michelle Golonka says:

    Sara,
    Your writing is outstanding! Every writing you post, I cant wait to read. It’s like a favorite author putting out a new book! You are fantastic!!! Love you!!!!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s