HOLD TO HIS HAND. I remember when I was little I would hold my Mother’s Hand. She loved showing me things that I could understand. Her hands were soft as cotton and warm as homemade bread. I loved the way she made me feel, My Precious Mother’s Hands. I remember when I got older I would watch my Dad at work. He could fix almost anything, never mind the dirt. With hands as tough as leather and hard as steel it seemed. I loved being around my Dad, I can see my Dad in me. I found a Man Named Jesus His hands were pierced with nails. He died upon a cross for sin to save my soul from Hell. With hands that could heal the sick and cause the blind too see. I love living with Jesus and I know He walks with me. F. R. Parks
Posted on: Wed, 31 Jul 2013 16:44:24 +0000
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