….I give you these hands….
Today, I sat at a table with one of the most precious people God has ever allowed me to meet. It was after school and of course I had a million things to do since grades are due and spring break is coming. SO NATURALLY…..I sat doing none of it and instead googled “Best Planners”. Because having something to write down all the things I need to do would help me get them done right?? LOL. I ended up on Erin Condren’s Life Planner website….designing my own planner. There are A TON of totally cute and precious covers for the planners, but being the picture obsessed human that I am, I choose one that allowed me to put like 24 pictures on the front and back. (Again……I chose the planner that would take the longest time to order….instead of doing all the things I needed to be doing….pray for me yall). Anyways, I started trying to think of the pictures I would want on the front. I knew without a doubt that I wanted some pictures from Africa. I opened the folder that contains THOUSANDS (literally) of pictures from Africa. I clicked on a random one. It was a picture of me and Isaac.
Tears immediately welled up in my eyes. I had to put my hands up to my face to stop them from beginning to race down my face like they were competing in the Indy 500. I looked at a few more and then I had to stop because I knew it would lead to just a total meltdown. But my mind was already gone. It was already there. Missing and thinking of my family and home on the other side of this big sphere we call Earth.
My whole drive home, Africa kept popping back up to the forefront of my thoughts. So once I got home to the safety of my little trailer and more specifically the confines of a warm bath, I scrolled through the beautiful pictures from Africa. And it hurts. Hurts bad. But that’s just because I have been incredibly blessed to meet brothers and sisters so far away.
I kept looking through pictures and noticed there was something that kept standing out to me for some reason. My hands. Pictures of my hands on babies bellies. Pictures of my hands locked in other hands. Pictures of my hands tickling children. Pictures of my hands washing dishes. Pictures of my hands sorting beans. Pictures of my hands making porridge and posho. Pictures of my hands in the air from celebrating gaining a new sister in Christ. Pictures of my hands washing feet. Pictures of my hands doing peace signs for goofy pictures. And pictures of my hands holding the Bible.
Hands. Ten fingers and a palm. Simple…yet powerful. The very thing that we use to get things DONE. The very thing I’m using to type this silly post.
I hear sermons and messages about our feet, our minds, and our hearts all the time.
But Lord…..let my hands forever be for you.
I began praying that my hands would never stop reaching to hug the necks of the “nobodys”. They would never stop interlocking with the “forgottens”. That they would always clap with, celebrate with, and be used to create silly pictures with the “less thans”. That I would never keep them for my own good, but that they would grow callused and worn from being used to meet new people, greet people, and love the heck out of people.
That whatever I do….whether in the nicest neighborhood in the States, the slums of Africa, the dirt roads of Central America, the classroom, the grocery store, the church pew. That wherever I am….whether typing a blogpost, teaching a child how to multiply, cooking food, giving a hug, hopefully one day writing a full book (just a girl dreamin’ okay), sorting beans, washing feet, holding a Bible and teaching from it, holding Mac’s leash, driving down the road, putting a Band-aid on a booboo, or typing a text. That whoever I’m around….whether around my Acholi brothers and sisters, my American friends, my precious class, my coworkers, the lady at McDonalds who takes my money (and literally probably knows my order because….ya know your girl loves her some McDonalds.NO SHAME)….wherever I am…whatever I’m doing…no matter who I am around…That my hands would always keep reaching…they would always keep holding….they would always keep working….they would always keep touching…they would always radiate love until my Jesus calls me home.
My hands. They are yours. Would you never let them close. Would you always keep them reaching for the hurt, the lost, the broken, the forgotten, the famous, the rich, the poor, the excited, the sad, the black, the white, the happy, the angry, the old, and the young. Would they hold tighter than they think they can hold, longer than they think they can hold, and more than they think they can hold. Would they always and forever cherish the people they get to cling to. My Baba, they are yours. I give you these hands.