by sally meyer ?2000
2000 years have come and gone since that silent and holy night.
the eve of the birth of our savior, a day that would bring new
light.
there sat mary in the quiet stable, caressing her newborn babe.
hardly more than a child, herself, giving birth in a cold, dark
cave.
gently unwrapping the little boy, unwinding swaddling bands.
his tiny fingers encircled her own as she stroked his little hands.
she must have asked herself and smiled, "what will these hands do
someday?"
"will they farm the earth or build a house? will they work with
chisel or clay?"
how could she know as she tickled his fingers and counted them, one
to ten.
the things they would do, in a few short years, to bless the lives
of men?
the angel had told of his deity and his part in god's sacred plan.
but she couldn't know just where he would go or what he would do
with those hands.
as a boy in joseph's carpenter shop, they would use a hammer and
saw.
then on the shores of galilee, break bread as he taught god's law.
how many times from cradle to cross would those hands change the
lives of men.
as he healed from the bed and raised from the dead and forgave them,
time and again.
he would use his grown up hands to pull a child to his knee.
fingers would wipe a tear from an eye, apply mud so a man could see.
those hands would be clasped in tearful prayer in gethsemane's
garden, alone.
then nailed to a cross on calvary's
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