Hands and Feet

I apologize for the lack of posting that has happened here recently.  I haven't been in a writing mood for a long time.  I don't know why, but the words won't flow whenever I sit down to write.  Wether I'm writing a blog post, and poem or a letter home, I find myself unable.  So I thought I would give y'all a poem instead.  This one is called Hands and Feet.

People are dying

Their mothers just sitting there crying.

And back home, my favorite team is losing.

While I’m sitting so much on my butt that its bruising

But what happens if I get up?

What happens if I take up the cup?

But it’s so degrading, 

If I get up and start fading

What will the world think?

But maybe, just maybe I am that missing link

Maybe it’s me that needs to go, 

To not wait for the end of the show

But to get up now and never look back

To pick up my cross and carry my pack

Maybe it’s me that could bring the healing

That could restore the feeling

I felt it before, I know where they’re at

I know where they sit, It’s right where I sat.

But to leave everything behind?

People would think I’m losing my mind.

To leave my friends and my family?

To get down in the dirt, to take a knee?

Well thats just unheard of

No one cares for love

It’s all about hate and war

And who of the money can make more

But I’m so sick and tired of all this crap

So sick of everyone just laying around talking a nap

Why do I idly sit and wait?

What am I waiting for? The destruction of hate?

It’s not going anywhere until I love

Not going anywhere until I mimic the One sent from above

This is a problem, when I am so covered in sin

It’s a problem when I don’t look like Him

A problem I can’t fix

A problem that at my brain so ever licks

I want to be your hands and feet

But at this place I need You and me to meet

I can’t go forward without You

Your will can’t do too

Make me, mold me

Shape me into one of the few. 

The few that leaves everything

For Your will and Your praises to sing

The few that really care 

The few that are so rare

The ones that will get down in the mud

And pull out the kids from under the crud

The ones that will go down to Hell make me

Someone who will fight not flee

Make me Yours and Yours alone

That I might rescue those that moan

That I might really show them your grace

That I might be a picture of your face

I’m so tired of making up an excuse

as the rope tightens and makes a noose

It’s killing me, you know

To sit here a reap what I sow

To be lazy and full of hate

A Christian you ask? Well I’m just second rate

I don’t actually care for the ones my God did

I sit around and say I’m just a kid

But what does that matter

When the world around me is one big tatter?

I’m just a kid?  That’s no exception

That’s not a reason for others to feel rejection.

What about Peter? What about Paul?

What would’ve happened if they just leaned against the wall?

What if I go and I’m not second rate?

What If I go and I’m not very great?

What if I go and they don’t remember my name?

What if I don’t find fortune and fame?

What am I saying?! That’s not the point at all.

The point is for me to help save others from the fall

To be Christ and show His compassion

Even if it doesn’t fit in with the worldly fashion

To be His hands and feet

To see people where they’re at and their needs to meet.