My Hands are Yours

Hands
sin-darkened with a shadow that can only be removed by a blood offering
are before me.
They are my own.
They are my own
and
they are dirty
and
they hold in them the only thing I have to give
which is
my life.
My life
filled with darkness
sorrow
pain
guilt
is yours.
Yours because
of the blood offering you freely gave
before my great-grandparents were even imagined by man.
Yours because
of the love you have shown me when there is nothing about me to love.
Yours because
of the joy you have filled me with when most people think there is no reason to be joyful.
Yours because
of the endless chances you have given me for redemption.
Hands
never lifted high enough to possibly be worthy of you
but you sing over them anyways.
Hands
made strong and new by the love you pour over them.