(a poem of appreciation for the elderly in our congregations)

These wrinkles are the hands of time,
The journeys I’ve been on
They’ve seen me through a thousand days,
And ev’ry victory won

These fragile hands, with exposed bones,
Are not a fearful sight
But rather, they, my faithful partners,
Rocked babies through the night

These eyes are weak, they see much less;
Than yours they’ve seen much more
They’ve guided me through death, through grief
Through birth, through hurt, through war

These ears can hear so very little,
But they’ve learned to listen much
They perk up not for gossip now,
But for a heart to touch

The younger often stare my way,
With pity looks to give, yet–
This old body doesn’t mean I am dying,
But rather, that I have lived.

By Emily Nelson
Emily and her husband KJ are students at the Bear Valley Bible Institute of Denver. She is originally from Murfreesboro, TN and is the only Christian in her family.  She has been writing poetry for many years and was first published at age 11.