Bible Study Live | John 1

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Hands Not Held

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  In a room where greetings weave,  a gesture extends—a common thread.  Yet her hands, folded, quietly cleave  to the fabric of a past that bled.   For where some see an offer, a sign,  she sees the shadows of a darker play.  Those hands, once weapons, cross a line  that to others seems miles away.   Imagine the hands, not tools of peace,  but of war, that touched without grace,  that stripped the night of any lease  on safety, on a sanctified space.   So, when hands reach out to bridge a gap,  her heart retreats to a fortress old,  built on tremors of a former trap,  lined with stories, silent and cold.   Yet in her strength, a tale unfolds,  not of the hands that caused her fear,  but of the power that she now holds,  to define touch, to hold it dear.   In every greeting she might refuse,  there is a stand, a boundary set.  Her hands are hers to use—or not—  a choice...
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The Gift of Becoming

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  God, in wisdom, gave us wheat, not bread, Fruit in seed, not wine in cup, A gift of raw becoming, A chance for hands to shape and souls to rise. So too, in the forge of flesh and bone, My spirit found its art, Sculpted not by ease, But by the flame of truth and fire of scars. Had I been born in perfect form, Unscarred by questions, doubts, and fears, Would I have known this strength within, This tender joy in being whole? No, I am a work unfinished, Carved by trials, smoothed by tears, In every hardship, beauty blooms— In every wound, a life is claimed. You ask if I would trade it all, The twists and turns, the ache, the strain— But in this pain, I learned to live, To break the shell, to birth the name. For living is not merely breath, But dancing on the edge of truth, To stand in light, both fierce and kind, A flame reborn from deepest roots. I do not love the price I paid— The hurt, the loss, the bitter sting— Yet neither do...
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