While in bible study we were talking and I mentioned something about raising hands in church. One of the members (a friend) said she prayed about it and 4 am in the morning God gave her this.My Fathers Hands
His hands on my head guiding me through dangerous obstacles even crowds that could harm or separate me from Him.
My bruised and scraped hands from a fall, I raise to Him, He sees and teaches me as He heals and sends me on His way again.
Feel of His strong hand over mine that is secure and safe and will never lead me into danger, not let me stray there.
His hand at work with mine, showing me how, training me, then sending me always ready to catch me when I fall or steady me when I am uncertain.
His hands mold my day when I ask. His hands mold all my mistakes always to good for me and His plans for others.
His hands can find beauty in the worst of things. When I can't seem to find His hands, I must trust His heart. For His heart has always been in His hands, His Word is His pulse that slows from them.
I want to have my Father's hands, a true builder whose projects are designed and built in perfection. And i see His work here on earth, always begins with His hands folded in prayer.
In His hands are discipline for His children, but woe to His enemies, they are punished without end
His hands are patient and everlasting comfort to the weak, powerfully protective toward the fragile, but will crush the proud like a vice.
The One whose hands are all of these; this One is perfect in all His deeds. Others may question, many may sneer, but I hunger to have My Savior, Lord and Father's hands dear, for then I know I am loved with an everlasting love and held in His everlasting arms, from now to everlasting I am secure.
So when I worship I lift my hands at times to show them clean ready to "sup" with Him. Sometimes bloody and bruised from battles or falls but I want Him to see them, my heart enthralled, to exalt My Abba, My Savior, My God, My Joy, My Life, My Breath of all.
Through my hands He sees my heart, He knows where I've been and what I've done. Yet as I raise them, every time He says to me, "Come!"
He'll mend the bruises and soften the calluses...He'll wash my hands in His Precious Blood. Through them He'll reach into my heart and take out the black thorns of bitterness and replace them with pearls of His wisdom and His faceted light like diamonds He bestows and once more it seems I feel Him as never before.
Many do not understand, for that reason they've never raised their hands. But with eyes closed I shall raise mine and enjoy our fellowship one more time, for unashamed I cannot truly live without My Father's hands.
I want Him to see mine and the work they've done, blow away the chaff and rejoice with me in the grain. To send me back into the harvests, a worker approved for Him. Yes, my heart, let us be a worker approved. May it be seen by Him in my hands.
His hands on my head guiding me through dangerous obstacles even crowds that could harm or separate me from Him.
My bruised and scraped hands from a fall, I raise to Him, He sees and teaches me as He heals and sends me on His way again.
Feel of His strong hand over mine that is secure and safe and will never lead me into danger, not let me stray there.
His hand at work with mine, showing me how, training me, then sending me always ready to catch me when I fall or steady me when I am uncertain.
His hands mold my day when I ask. His hands mold all my mistakes always to good for me and His plans for others.
His hands can find beauty in the worst of things. When I can't seem to find His hands, I must trust His heart. For His heart has always been in His hands, His Word is His pulse that slows from them.
I want to have my Father's hands, a true builder whose projects are designed and built in perfection. And i see His work here on earth, always begins with His hands folded in prayer.
In His hands are discipline for His children, but woe to His enemies, they are punished without end
His hands are patient and everlasting comfort to the weak, powerfully protective toward the fragile, but will crush the proud like a vice.
The One whose hands are all of these; this One is perfect in all His deeds. Others may question, many may sneer, but I hunger to have My Savior, Lord and Father's hands dear, for then I know I am loved with an everlasting love and held in His everlasting arms, from now to everlasting I am secure.
So when I worship I lift my hands at times to show them clean ready to "sup" with Him. Sometimes bloody and bruised from battles or falls but I want Him to see them, my heart enthralled, to exalt My Abba, My Savior, My God, My Joy, My Life, My Breath of all.
Through my hands He sees my heart, He knows where I've been and what I've done. Yet as I raise them, every time He says to me, "Come!"
He'll mend the bruises and soften the calluses...He'll wash my hands in His Precious Blood. Through them He'll reach into my heart and take out the black thorns of bitterness and replace them with pearls of His wisdom and His faceted light like diamonds He bestows and once more it seems I feel Him as never before.
Many do not understand, for that reason they've never raised their hands. But with eyes closed I shall raise mine and enjoy our fellowship one more time, for unashamed I cannot truly live without My Father's hands.
I want Him to see mine and the work they've done, blow away the chaff and rejoice with me in the grain. To send me back into the harvests, a worker approved for Him. Yes, my heart, let us be a worker approved. May it be seen by Him in my hands.
Thank you for writing this dear friend. It was very powerful to me and well said.
