The hands that bled for us

“How unspeakably wondrous it is to know that every concern of ours rests in the hands that bled for us.”

–John Newton

The hands that stretched willingly across my cross, without resistance, and bore the nails that pierced them—these same hands hold every weight of mine with tenderness. My name is engraved in those hands, unerasable and unforgettable; there’s no chance He would overlook me, nor could He ever forget.

These hands—wounded, yet unwavering—have already borne this burden. Why would He not carry it still?

He is not distant. He is not unaware.

His wounded hands cradle this pain.

His wounded hands cradle you.

Those same hands, wounded for you, hold this country. They hold the electoral college. They hold each ballot. There is nothing that can be done without his knowledge, nothing that can come to pass without him saying, “let it be so.”

No matter the outcome, he’s already there.

You can rest, knowing that He holds it all.

In God we trust, and only in God do we trust🤍