My Son's Hands
Author: Kathleen Crilly

It's the middle of the nightwhen your crying comes to meand my body says "no, please, no"but my love says "Mommy's here".
I gather your tiny boyself in my tired armsand as I pull you to my warmthI smell your fragrant newnessand kiss your downy head.
The just as I did reach for youyour little balled fists rise up to my face,to my voice,to search in tender jagged thrustsand clasp whatever prey they find.
I kiss each fragile fingerand breathe a prayer on each.

May you always reach for love,may you find it always there,may you always touch in tenderness,the people in your care.
May you grasp the work of duty,may you feel the need to share.
May you hold the truth of Jesusas a torch you always bear.
May your heart reach ever upwardTo grasp the God who placed you there.