His hands were just like mine at birth. They were small and soft.
His hands, as he grew, folded in prayer for his heavenly Father.
His hands were strong and rough- that of a carpenter, like his earthly father.
His hands blessed others everywhere he went.
His hands comforted everyone they touched.
His hands healed the sick, weak and dying.
His hands and arms are always open for his children to come to him.
His hands held him on the cross, spilling blood that paid the price for our sins.
His hands show the ultimate unconditional love he gives to us.
His hands are the way I long for my hands to be.
His hands can lead me to show love to others too.
His hands and arms around me someday is where I will be.
His hands are the best hands in the world.