Everything is out of our hands...

Everything is
out
of our hands.
 
I tell you,
it's out
of our hands....

Nothing was
ever
in our hands.

Seeds we plant.
Rain we praise
or curse.

Babes we birth.
They grow
weeds, roses or vines.

Everything is
out
of our hands.

Not by works.
Not by righteousness.
Nothing in our hands.
Nothing but grace.

I tell you
it's out
of our hands...

and I tell you
who has
hands enough
for it all.

He does.
He can.
He will.
He is.
 
Copyright Shanyn Silinski 2011
(This poem inspired by a prompt by our Triggered Muse Poet's group on Facebook. )