Hands

Isn’t it amazing how the smallest of things can bring us to our knees? Not long ago I was bragging to someone that my allergies seem to be waning as the years pass and then this last blast from the north brought along my crippler, cedar pollen. You can’t see it. You can’t taste it. But over the years believe it or not it’s brought on three asthmatic attacks requiring emergency health care. Abolishing live holiday greenery in the house cured that problem. That was many years ago but to this day cedar pollen still brings tears to my itching eyes and sneezing fits that use up all the tissues in the house. Allergy OTC medicines generally curb the allergic reactions but also have the effect of making me feel lighter than air. Oh well, the season doesn’t seem to last as long or be as severe as in my younger days and that’s fine with me. I really don’t mind having to put up with the allergy as long as I’ve got some pills to take. I look at it this way. I’m happy to still be reacting to something. Whoa, did I say that? It sounds like an old man’s philosophy.
Life and living has a way of hardening the heart limiting its reaction to things that used to make it swell up. But, every now and then a movie, story, song or a friend touches your heart making you take another look at life. Thanks to Jen & Mike for this story, one I think we can all relate to. Picture an old man staring at his open hands and telling you his life’s history. “Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have and how well they’ve served you over the years”, he begins. “These hands though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I’ve used all my life to reach out, to grab and to embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed to the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. My mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my rifle and wiped my tears as I went off to war. They wrote letters home. They’ve been dirty, scraped, raw, swollen, sticky, wet, cold, bent and broken. Decorated with a wedding band they show the world I’m married and love someone very special. They were uneasy and clumsy the first time I held my newborn son. They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They’ve held children, consoled friends and neighbors, yet were strong enough to lift a heavy plow off my best friends foot. They’ve been shook in fists of anger when I didn’t understand. They’ve covered my face, combed my hair, washed and cleansed the rest of my body. Nothing else works that well anymore, but they still help me up, lay me down and continue to be folded in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I’ve been and the ruggedness of my life. One day God will reach out, take me by the hands, not caring much where they’ve been, and take me home where these hands will touch the face of Jesus making all the trials of life worth living, for His love.”
[Romans 12] Does your spiritual and prayer life bring you to your knees? The thought of Jesus with His out stretched arms and His nail pierced hands dripping blood to the ground as He gave His life for the sins of the world ought to bring you to your knees in thanks, often. My hands will never go where the hands of my Lord went. Or will they? My Lord was a loving servant to others even to the point of sacrificing them to God to redeem the sins of mankind. Paul says our hands should be given also, but as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God. This is your spiritual act of worship. It is love.