Whose Hands

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Whose Hands

I am the toy upon the shelf
With dust on every surface
Children play in front of me
And no longer see my purpose
My smile is painted on
And tears fall down my middle
It’s the classic sigh of a deadly kind
I’m here, but they see me little
I’ve heard that when all hope seems lost
There’s new hope to be found
Since I know by Whose hands I’m made
I’m meant to be around


“What is the price of five sparrows – two copper coins?  Yet God does not forget a single one of them.  And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”
(Luke 12:6-7, NLT)

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