His Hands

"I've cried my eyes out every day.
My burdens, I've out-poured
in never-ending prayers to You.
Why can't You hear me Lord?

"Oh Lord, the stinging hurts me so.
They smear my wounds with salt.
My mind is scarred and You know why.
These burdens aren't my fault.

"And physically, I'm also scarred.
Each hurts a different way.
So tell me... once again I ask,
'Do You hear what I say?'"

"As days go by, I cannot cope.
Will nothing ever change?
If there were different burdens Lord,
I'd happily exchange.

"I'd trade all mine for other ones.
This pain is just too great.
Please let me trade my burdens in,
if it is not too late."

And then I saw my Savior's hands,
cupped high above my head.
He slowly lowered them to me,
and this is what He said.

"If you wish, then I will trade.
Your Savior understands.
I'll take each burden you don't want.
Just place them in my hands."

So collected I, my burdens.
They numbered as the stars.
And just before I threw them in,
I saw those nail scars.

Instinctively, I drew them back.
Now I was at a loss...
I cannot trade my burdens for
His day upon the cross.

"Oh come, my dear and troubled child -
come rest in my embrace.
Have faith that I will vanquish them
and I will show you grace."

So once again, still weak in trust,
and hesitant, I feared -
but one by one I set them in
and each one disappeared!

Now I have grace... And burdens? None!
No cross of any kind!
I gave to Jesus everything -
and now have peace of mind.

This poem won first place for the April 2012 poetry contest