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From a Cracked Pot

O be careful little hands what you do; O be careful little hands what you do; There's a Father up above; And He's looking down in love; So, be careful little hands what you do.
The soldier looked at his hands, rough and callused from years of war. He wondered how much blood these hands had spilled in the name of peace. But the idea of peace was capricious at best; just when it seemed within reach another uprising began. He was so very tired of war and blood. He longed for his homeland and the quiet havens it held. Yet, the voices of the dead would follow him there, haunting him with their cries.
He balled his hands into fists to hide them from himself.
And here was more his hands would help to kill. He hated this detail; the crucifying of criminals. He didn’t know if they were guilty or innocent, but surely no one deserved such a death. He could hear the crowd as they headed to the top of the hill. He knew who he had to punish today, but something within him rebelled. His heart ached. He had heard of the miracles this man had done.
He knew the centurion, a man he respected and trusted, who had told him who this Jesus was.
He looked once more at his hands; the hands that would nail an innocent man to a cross.
The throng came nearer and the soldier gasped. This man being heckled and spit upon was unrecognizable. He had been beaten so badly the soldier wondered how he was still walking. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t think he could do it. He turned to look for a superior, hoping to be spared this duty.
His superior laughed in his face. “You don’t want to rid this world of one more Jew? You have been in the Judean sun too long.”
“Please, sir,” the soldier pleaded, “appoint another for this task.”
“Remember your place, Soldier!” the commander shouted. “This task is yours and yours alone. Now get to it!”
The soldier’s hands shook the closer the crowd came. Finally Jesus was before Him, His cross being carried by another. The soldier didn’t try to stop the tears as he drove the nails into the hands of Jesus. This wasn’t right.
He did his hated duty; he nailed hands calloused with work to a cross. The hands that had comforted, healed the lame, made the blind see, the deaf hear, and the dead to rise again would now help to kill Jesus.
The soldier hated himself; he hated his hands so much he longed to cut them off and throw them away for what they had done. He heard every word Jesus said while he hung there. And just as the soldier thought he couldn’t stand it another minute, Jesus gave him hope. “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” This man he had nailed to a cross asked God to forgive him.
Once more the soldier looked down at his hands. However, this time he didn’t see the blood stains; instead, he saw life. He saw they could be used in prayer and comfort for others. He saw they would no more be used as weapons for evil but for good. They would be used for God and Him alone. For this first time in his life, he had hope for a future being made for him, not by Rome, but by God.
We can use our hands for good or for evil. We can raise them in praise and worship; or raise them in anger and hate. We can create and destroy with our hands. How we use our hands is up to us. 
O be careful little hands what you do; O be careful little hands what you do; There's a Father up above; And He's looking down in love; So, be careful little hands what you do.


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