Stones in my Hand

Seven stones in my hand Where have these stones been? Who has stepped on them? Who has just passed them by thinking that they were just seven stones? Rounded, smooth,

since being formed, they have been rolled and washed and moved and rocked and rolled some more.

Seven stones in my hand Were they once adrift on a mountain slide? Were they once big enough to dam a mighty river? Have they been part of this stony beach for ever, as seven out of literally billions of billions on this beach? Rounded, smooth,

since being formed, they have been rolled and washed and moved and rocked and rolled some more.

Because of heat and pressure they have scars they bare Do you notice one has a cross pattern? And another a different colour and shape? They have come from different places but I picked them up, now they are special to me, seven stones in my hand, Rounded, smooth,

since being formed, they have been rolled and washed and moved and rocked and rolled some more.

They’ll never be a “few of the many” unless I throw them back onto the beach, into the “crowd”. I wonder if God recognizes each of these stones? I wonder if He knew what they looked like, as part of their original rock? Where did they come from? Where will they be tomorrow? Where will they be next year? Seven “lucky” stones in my hand, special to me, because I picked them up, chosen, by me.

So too, you are ‘special’ in the Creators hand