Faith of a Child

A hand so misshapen,
From the ravages of age,
Fingers grown stiff,
And at times splayed.

Knuckles swollen,
Movement almost nil,
These once busy fingers,
Are now quite still.

Sewing things laid aside,
To sew causes such hurt,
I cannot mend and create,
These fingers will not work.

A fair-haired little girl,
One day took my hand,
Told me what I needed,
Stating, "my Jesus can."

"He made it the first time,
He can make it again",
Bowed her head and prayed,
Then a warmth began.

All through the fingers,
Into the hand,
The look in her eyes,
Said yes, my Jesus can.

The stiffness lessened,
Agility slowly returned,
The words of the little girl,
In my heart did burn.

Jesus made it the first time,
He can make it again,
Her faith moved mountains,
Where had my faith been?

Gayle Davis
February 11, 2002 ©
 

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