You are who
You say You are
and i am
i am
in the palm
of Your hand
and
when i don’t get it
You still somehow
understand
and i am still
somehow
in Your hand

. . . . .

For all I do not know, I believe I am in His hand.

Like a child in hands of her mother.
Like dough in the hands of a baker.
Like clay in the hands of the potter.

We are in His hands.

We have His eyes.

We have His attention.

We have His hands.

And we are in good hands.

We are in loving hands.
We are in grace-filled hands.
We are in hands that can make something out of nothing.
Hands that can make our brokenness, beautiful.
Hands that can turn a mess into a masterpiece.
Hands that can heal.

Even when I don’t understand I am in His hands.