"Receive your sight" - Acts 9:18
Commanded to receive,
I open my hands, and
into them pours a blessing
This simple equation
tells me, every time, I
cannot forget who I am.
"Receiver" - my name - it
rings out with no shame. Lame,
I limp toward my healing.
Covered in filth, still I
move forward, uphill, 'til
toiling, I pass up my pride.
At last I am near the
great Giver. Here, I lie
finally spent, at His mercy.
He lifts me up, gently
Looks at me, intently.
Asks me to hold out my hands.
My pride long forgotten
I obey. Tears fall, all
noticed by Him who now kneels.
He opens his own hands
Pierced, hard-working hands - and
Lets His life-gift swiftly flow.
His fingers - so warm - give
healing and hope; pour forth
love to my soul like a sea
I'll never leave Him. I'm
glad to receive Him: Gift
Who make all other gifts pale.
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