The Chaplain's Hands

Photo from my trip to Kenya in 2007

A while back I had knee surgery and was fortunate to have my fellow chaplains come pray for me before my surgery. Even though I'm a chaplain myself I was anxious about the procedure and was waiting alone. I really appreciated our Senior chaplain sitting and holding my hands as he prayed. It was a good reminder that I wasn't alone and that everything really was going to be okay. It's a strange feeling to be on the other side of the hospital bed, one that I hope I don't experience again any time soon. He is someone who has a been an amazing mentor to me over the past couple of months, and I have learned so much from him. This poem came from that experience. Still working on it, it doesn't feel quite right yet. I'd appreciate your honest critiques and thoughts. Hoping to give it to him as a retirement present here pretty soon. I make no claims to be a poet, but I find writing these things out helps get them out of my head :)

Blessings during this advent season.

The Chaplain’s Hands

The chaplain’s hands are big

They seem to surround my own

Assuring me that all will be well

I am not alone.

The chaplain’s hands are rough

From years of carpentry

The remind me of Jesus

Watching his dad carve silently

The chaplain’s hands are gentle

There’s softness in their touch

Which brings compassion and hope

Despite the callousness and scars

The chaplain’s hands are old

Marked with the tell-tale signs of age

I wonder how many others they’ve held

As the chaplain prayed

The chaplain’s hands are open

They do not judge

Instead they bring acceptance

And the promise of God’s love

The chaplain’s hands are helpful

They bring peace in time of doubt

A cup of water for the thirsty

And a blanket for the cold

The chaplain’s hands are storied

They’ve held newborn babes

And comforted a family in pain

As life’s last breath fades

 The chaplain’s hands are here

They seem to surround my own

Assuring me that all will be well

I am not alone.