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Stacia Littlefield

Poem: "God of the Bleeding Hands" by Stacia Littlefield

Don’t talk to me of megaphones
Or capsulated reason codes
This sorrow breaks the logic bone
And viciously destroys.

For long ago my answers flew
Instead marauding questions grew
Like vultures wheeling into view
Forever shrieking, WHY?

But—O my God!—how still and stark
To see You weeping in the dark
My pounding iron question marks
Now resemble nails.

And we are quiet, You and I
Beneath a dark foreboding sky
With bludgeoned soul and reddened eyes
The hours passing slow.

Now comfort seeps into my thought
My accusations slow and stop
All I can see is one pure Heart
Who didn’t have to die.

Still, days are long and what remains
Besides consistent whittling pain?
Yet here I find You near again
With me in the hurt.

For You have given me Yourself
To have, to hold; in sickness, health
And I can long for nothing else
Having Emmanuel.

While I am down upon the earth
Where tears entwine and shadow mirth
May I, though weakly, sing this song:
In You is all completely found.


For the God of the bleeding hands is washing my feet
And the God of the streaming eyes chooses to weep.

About the Artist


Stacia Littlefield lives in Colorado Springs where she simultaneously loves the mountains and struggles with wanderlust. She is pursuing a counseling degree at Denver Seminary and hopes that God will use her life and her writing to reveal more of His great love. She contributes to EMMAUS magazine at