Poetry

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THE CROSS

A Piece of wood
Nothing more than a tree
A lifeless object
Nothing but particles of dust

Until one day a carpenter see the tree
Carved it and bring it to Gethsemane
To become once again an object of disgrace
For the Savior of the world to lose His life

Yet as His blood flowed all over the cross
The worthless object became an instrument
Of grace and redemption in the Heavenly Father’s hands
So that generations to follow could live

So nothing is ever worthless in the Heavenly Father’s hands
Not even you
Put all of you in His hands
And with great care and love He shall make you to be you
So that the world can become a better place
Just because you were you

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