Hands

Hands

He was looking at his hands.

A torn piece of cardboard announced his position in life.

It said, “I am homeless, need help, God bless you”.

His coat was dirty and ragged and all the warmth that he had.

A backpack lay on the ground beside him, possibly containing everything he owned.

He was leaning against the sign post, the sign said stop.

But the preacher, who preaches love and mercy, would not.

Hands

He was looking at his hands.

A torn piece of cardboard announced his want in life.

It said, “Homeless, I need help, God bless you”.

His hands were dirty and bare and empty.

I wonder, do you suppose he was thinking I wish I had work for these hands to do.

Maybe he was wishing for water to wash with or food to eat.

He was leaning against the sign post, the sign said stop.

But the preacher, who was busy doing church work, would not.

Hands

He was looking at his hands.

A torn piece of cardboard announced his prayer in life.

It said, “Homeless, need help, may God bless you.

He never looked up as the people drove by.

What was his greatest need? A bite of food, a drink of water or just a phone call home?

Maybe God had placed him there for the preacher to help.

He was leaning against the sign post, the sign said stop.

But the preacher, who preaches about Gods Greatest commandment, would not.

Hands

I am looking at my hands.

A torn piece of cardboard convicts my soul.

It told me that the man was homeless and needed help. God forgive me.

I gripped the steering wheel and tried not to see him.

I rationalized, I am busy, and it is to dangerous maybe he does not really need help.

God said you, are My hands, but I pretended not to hear.

He was leaning against a sign post, the sign said Stop.

But the preacher, who preaches about the need to obey, did not.

May God have mercy on all who speak about love, but do not.

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