Hands Lifted High in Praise

HALLELUJAH HANDS

“I want men everywhere to lift up holy hands in prayer,

without anger or disputing.” 1 Timothy 2:8 NIV

Some lift one

others, both

chest-high, chin high

Some reach upward

ceilingward, skyward

stretching Heavenward

reaching for

His hem

Soft young graceful hands

with squared airbrushed fingertips

Pudgy, fidgety, child hands

copying his daddy hands

Brown hands, pale hands

old bulging vein hands

Just plain hands

hands with bands

hands flashing rings

stones sparkling

Calloused hands, splintered hands

rough, red dishpan hands

Cold hands, warm hands

peanut butter and jelly hands

Salon hands

nails lacquered red

rose pink or pearly

Tambourine shaking

banner waving

clap clapping

Bible clutching

baby holding

tear wiping

clenching, wrenching

God beseeching hands

Hands clasping the hand

of another

hands signing praise

for ears that cannot hear

hands folded

serenely in a lap

All beautiful

all holy

all His children’s

hallelujah hands

Maude Carolan

What They Learn "At Grandma's Knee"

Meet Aiden, Antonio, Emelia, Dean, Logan & Alana

AT GRANDMA’S KNEE

For my grandchildren

When I was a child, sitting at my grandma’s knee

she told me about Jesus, Who gave His life for me.

She made for me a scrapbook all about the Lord,

to show me countless reasons why He should be adored.

I still have that scrapbook. I keep it with my treasures.

Looking through it time to time is among my pleasures.

She told of His birth at Christmas; Easter, it was the Cross;

told of the sins He saved us from, when His life was lost.

She made it clear she loved Him; I learned to love Him, too,

and I grew up to follow Him, all my whole life through.

Now I have grandchildren, who sit upon my knee;

I get to tell them of the things that mean the most to me.

I read them poems and sing to them…Oh! we laugh and play;

I hug and kiss and pray with them in my special way.

Of course I tell of Jesus and why I love Him so,

and oh I hope they’ll love Him, too, as they grow and grow.

Maude Carolan Pych

IMAGINE

 

Imagine worshipping a cooing one moment, whimpering the next, born to save us, sweet baby God, lying in a trough filled with scratchy straw, needing a diaper change

 

Imagine worshipping a stone-kicking, frog-in-pocket, sticky-fingered, tousle-haired God, gleefully splish-splashing through mud-puddles along a rocky Nazareth road

 

Imagine worshipping a nose-in-the-Scroll, confident little boy-God, teaching in the Temple, confounding elders with astonishing Truths, as His parents search for Him

 

Imagine worshipping a rugged, long-haired, son-of-a-carpenter adolescent God, as He learns (ironically) to skillfully select woods and deftly wield a hammer and nails

 

Imagine worshipping a gregarious, life-of-the-party, wedding-guest God, Who miraculously turns stone jars of purification water into jars of finest wine at Cana

 

Imagine worshipping a child embracing, woe pronouncing, multitude feeding, leper cleansing God, Who walks upon water, instructs the wind and even raises the dead

 

Imagine worshipping a bread-breaking, wine-offering, foot-washing God, Who soon to be betrayed, beseeches His Heavenly Father, and sweats blood in an olive garden

 

Imagine worshipping a 30-something, blood-splattered, fist-struck, scourged and spat-upon God, laboriously lugging a cumbersome crossbeam to His own execution

 

Imagine worshipping a thorn-crowned, sword-pierced, crucified-with-common-criminals sacrificial Lamb of God, as He dies sinless for the sin of the world

 

Imagine worshipping a resurrected three-days-after-burial God, Who appears ALIVE! Yes, ALIVE! in His own burial garden, in locked rooms and to strangers along the road

 

Imagine worshipping this crucified, resurrected, gloriously ascending-in-the-clouds, victorious Son of God, Who says, "Go into the world and tell them." Tell them…

 

He did it for them

 

Imagine

 

 

Maude Carolan

Do You Know the "Real" Mary?

MARY

 

She was a real maiden

gracious and virtuous

so she trembled

as any girl might

at an angel’s visit

But she had real faith

in a real God

and she said, “Yes.”

 

She was a real woman

not blue-gowned in plaster

A poor carpenter’s wife

not an artist’s rendering

gilded and haloed

She bulged big with child

as she rode astride an ass

and during her real travail

brought forth a baby

in a Bethlehem stable

 

She was a real mother

He was a real son

She nursed him

changed him

bathed and cradled him

as any mother would

She smiled at his first word

saw him take his first step

and when he fell

and scraped his tender knees

she washed away blood

not yet deemed Precious

and soothed him

with soft lullabies

 

When he was twelve

and they discovered

he was missing

as they traveled home

after the Passover

she was anxious

as any mother would be

and heaved a great sigh

when they found him, safe

in the temple courts

 

Yes, she was a real mom

and he was a real son

so, it’s not surprising

it was she

who sensed his power

she who encouraged him to act

at the wedding feast

when wine stopped flowing

for she knew

she just knew…

 

and she was real

at the Crossbeams

Simeon had told her

long, long ago

a sword would pierce her

Though hers be bloodless

it penetrated sharp

and deep, as truly

as the gaping wounds

she now was powerless

to soothe

 

He looked down

from His agony

into hers—

gave her to mother

his friend

gave his friend

to be her son

 

It was always about love

 

She was a real mom

He is the real Savior

 

Maude Carolan