In The Hollow Of His Hands

I walked the path of shadows deep, 
Where doubts were sown and fears would creep. 
The ground beneath felt weak, unsure, 
A wavering heart that longed for more. 

“Where are You, Lord?” my voice would cry, 
As silence stretched across the sky. 
But in that stillness, soft and near, 
A whisper rose: “I am here.” 

Each step I took, though fraught with dread, 
Was guided by a Hand that led. 
Through every storm, each barren land, 
I rested in the hollow of His hands. 

The river raged, the mountains tall, 
The valleys echoed with my fall. 
But faith grew firm, though I couldn’t see, 
That He was weaving grace through me. 

“Trust Me,” He said, “though the way feels blind, 
For I see the end you cannot find. 
Each trial you face, each tear that falls, 
Is shaping the beauty of My call.” 

In lilies clothed and sparrows fed, 
I saw His promise, brightly spread. 
Not one small thing escapes His view, 
And neither will He forsake you. 

When morning broke, with skies alight, 
I saw His love through the darkest night. 
The trust I’d sown in the shadow’s span 
Bore fruit in the hollow of His hands. 

And now I know, when fears arise, 
To fix my gaze on His steady skies. 
For faith is forged when we release, 
And find in surrender, perfect peace. 

So take my heart, Lord, and make it Yours, 
Through winding paths and unknown shores. 
For deeper still, I long to stand, 
Forever held in the hollow of Your hands