healing – Woodsmoke and Cardamom

Grant Me Serenity

by Lucy M. Young

Dear Lord, grant me serenity,
That I may gracefully accept
Whatever comes my way that can't be altered.
If my body must be crippled,
Let not my mind and heart and soul be crippled also.
Grant me the strength
To rise above my physical affliction,
And be content with what I can accomplish
In spite of it.

Lord, grant me courage
To change my way of life to fit the limits
Placed upon me by my handicap;
To smile in spite of pain;
To laugh at difficulties, disappointments,
And find the strength to do my daily tasks.

But if it be Thy will, dear Lord,
I pray that Thou wilt heal my leg;
That pain may disappear,
And I may walk and work and live in comfort;
However, Lord, Thy will not mine be done.
Whatever be the outcome of this day, I will accept it;
And with Thy help,
I'll strive each day to live a useful, joyous life;
And make my home a pleasant, tranquil place,
That all who come may feel refreshed,
And go their way with peaceful, happy hearts.

The Day Nurse

by Lucy M. Young

Tall, petite, chubby, slim,
Blonde, brunette or redhead;
Gentle fingers, soothing hands
On many a fevered forehead.

Eyes of blue or gray or brown,
Pleasantly beguiling;
Never frowning 'though displeased,
Always sweetly smiling.

Bringing trays, making beds,
Changing soiled linen;
Answering the many calls
Of restless men and women.

Always finding things to do
To bring the patients pleasure;
Comfort, ease and confidence
She gives beyond all measure.

Gracious God, bless her now
And never cease to guide her;
Hold her up and give her strength
And ever walk beside her.

My Father’s Hands by Lucy M. Young

Gnarled and twisted with arthritis, Scarred and roughened by hard labor on the farm, Gentle hands God meant for healing broken bodies, Steady, careful hands for surgery.

Circumstances forced my father to renounce his calling And the talent in those hands was sacrificed; But they never lost their magic. They could calm a fevered, restless child with their soothing touch.

They could heal a horse’s harness gall Or a little child’s stubbed toe. They could carve and whittle clever toys, Build sturdy furniture for our home, Or a dainty doll’s bed for a little girl.

My memories of my father are wrapped up in his hands, Inarticulate and shy, he let his hands speak for him – Those gentle, patient, work-worn hands, Showing all the love he was unable to express in any other way.