I’ve never had pretty hands. I played rough and got dirty growing up. I never painted my fingernails, they chipped so easily it just wasn’t worth it. There were frequent calluses on my palms. My hands just weren’t soft like some of my friends’ hands, and they always felt bulky and large, not delicate. I’ve never seen my hands as pretty, because to me they just aren’t.
But I’ve grown to be content with the hands God has given me- they’re MINE and I can do so much with them! My hands can do a lot of what you can, and a lot that you cannot. Endless possibilities. I am especially thankful that my hands can keep me grounded, safe, and present. My hands can hold my Bible and turn its cherished pages. My hands can fold in prayer on my darkest nights when I feel alone.
And my hands can hold yours.
Whatever that means to you, whenever you need me to. I’m sorry they aren’t pretty and might be a little clammy. It is safe to assume they’re washed and clean. We can build together and create and express to our life’s capacity! Sometimes I might hold your hand at a weird angle or we waffle-hold and a finger slips into the wrong space, but my hands can hold yours. They can be a comfort to a heart that has been bruised. I can hold sweet babies and pet fluffy doggies.
My hands can help. My hands can bring connection.
Or….My hands can do the bruising.
I can bash things apart, cover things up, or throw things away. Is there a limit to the destruction I can create? Maybe that is an age-old question. Not to mention what my hands can do when they hold a weapon of choice. A hammer, maybe some scissors, or even a rock. Those are minor choices I suppose, what about guns, knives, explosives? Peace unhinged in a single moment. I wonder how many hands it takes to rebuild what I can destroy…
Maybe my weapon of choice is my phone. Hidden behind the screen, anything is possible and words carry weight (whether we admit this or not). Or my weapon of choice could be exclusion. Common humanity involves pain when we feel left out, rejected, or unwanted. In my experience, this has always been on my personal radar and I know of others’ as well. Sometimes it is just ‘so much easier’ to exclude than include. My weapon of choice might even be against myself. I know the perfect ones.
Maybe destruction is more about the goal than the weapon. If I use all of my weapons to crush your soul, who walks away? Okay, okay, maybe “crush your soul” is dramatic, but do you get the point? Hands love and hands hit, heal AND hurt. How do you think Satan is going around using his ‘hands’?? And you’ve got your very own pair of hands right there in front of you. What are you going to do with your hands?
Weapons are aimed at souls all around us. Our loved ones, brothers and sisters persecuted on the other side of the world, the cashier addicted to cocaine, the teenager considering suicide because they’re questioning their sexuality, the husband who has been cheated on (but doesn’t know it yet), they’re ALL in the crosshairs. Who walks away? Whose hand do they have to hold? Are you a part of helping, healing and connection? Are you holding a weapon? Remember who is truly aiming at them- at you!
Whatever you choose to do, understand that you are holding the responsibility and consequences too. You can ABSOLUTELY help to rebuild what you helped to break, but it may take more hands than just yours to get there. Will you destroy and walk away? Will you accept my hand- it would mean everything to me if you did? Will you reach out into the darkness for MY fingertips?
Finally, my favorite hand of all. The hand of God. I’ve never experienced a more gentle embrace when I am succeeding, or a stronger grip on my soul when falling short. His hands will always be there in whatever way I need (NEED) them to be. There is no weapon that can penetrate the shield all around me that is Him, unless I choose to join those who destroy themselves.
Final question to you…. Do you have helping hands, or balled up fists?
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