Open Hands
We are born with the ability
to wrap our fingers around another,
to hold tight to what we know.
Maybe that’s where the instinct comes from—
this clinging,
this sinking,
this holding on.
Maybe that’s why Peter cries, “Never!”
when Jesus must leave.
From the very beginning
we’ve known how to hold tight.
So I pray:
open up my hands.
Uncurl my fingers
one by one.
Loosen the grip
that I hold unyielding.
Remind me that birds must fly
and children must grow
and leaves must fall.
And even though
we are born with the ability
to hold tight,
we can learn how to love
with open hands.
Poem by Rev. Sarah Speed
Reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art
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