A Prayer for Heavy Handed Boys

My sister told me I had heavy hands.
and it wasn't always my fault
But even play fights were prone to bruising,
and still I am sometimes afraid of my hands.
So I pray at the start of every day:

Lord grant me the strength,
that these fingers would stretch instead of clench
that these hands would swing not like clubs
but like chariots,
dipping down for a soul that could lead me home.

Oh great carpenter forgive me,
for every blasphemous profanity
that might escape my lips
at the countless blisters, burns and bruises,
born of a thousand projects
forgive me also,
for those which will not be completed
and keep in my hands the dull desire to create.

God make it so that the calluses
that I will no doubt collect
will always be the roughest thing about these hands
that even in play, these hands would catch
kids who leap into the air
testing gravity
daring it to slip up for even a moment.

Oh Mother of God,
make that these hands could be cradles
that they could shelter that which is most precious
that I could give, if even for just a moment
a small modicum of safety.

Please God,
Let Arthritis riddle my knuckles,
let them become knotted,
let my hands be warped into caricatures,
let them be purposeless with pain,
let them contort themselves beyond recognition,
let them fail to do all that which hands do,
Lord, let them do all this,
before they do what is sometimes too easy for them,
let my hands fall useless at my sides,
before they ever seek to cleave flesh from bone,
before they ever draw blood from its holy sanctuary.
Let my hands never be extensions of violence, God.

I pray by all my favorite saints and sinners,
that my hands would embody the creative forces of life
Lord let pens and pencils form familiar indents in my hands,
let it be, so that stories and stanzas flow freely
carving valleys into plain pages
let a river of of writing pour forth from these hands,
let ink and graphite stain my my finger tips,
let flowers of unintentional beauty encroach upon these digits
and let me love them for it.

At all times God
let me hear the faintest whisper,
the sound of my big sister,
reminding me to be careful with these heavy hands.