Life's Holy Hands

His hands were oily and grimy from years and years of working on cars and trucks. The hands tell a story about hard, dirty work that gives peace of mind to those who are not quite sure of the difference between four-cylinders and eight.

Her hands were strong, soft and gentle. How many lids had she tightened with her hands? How many times had she immersed her fingers and hands in warm, soapy water to bathe a child or clean a dish? Her hands have a story to tell too, a story about caring and nurturing, cleaning and scrubbing.

I looked at his hands and noticed that he had picked the skin and nails to the point that his fingers were scarred and bleeding. Could this have been his way of dealing with his anxiety and the stress of life? Or was it something else? His hands tell a story about a life of suffering and a life of pain. It is a story about battles with life's demons, a constant struggle with addictions that cripple the body and breaks our spirits.

I'm remembering the newborn hands of my children. Their hands tightly clasp into two tiny fists that had not yet learned how to use the muscles and the bones to open their tiny hands to discover the mysteries of the world and to begin to weave the story that would become their own. Their hands small and beautiful were still waiting to receive the joy of new discoveries.

I am remembering the holy hands that held me when I was small, strong hands of gentle strength. I am remembering the men and women along my own journey who reached out their hands to catch me when I fell or encouraged me when I was feeling too comfortable with my life. I am remembering Mrs. Rietz, a member of the church choir who asked if I had ever considered ministry? I remember Mrs. Kuhlman who encouraged me to use my voice to sing praises to God. I remember Rev. Reiter and the congregation of St. John's in Granite City who believed in me and allowed me to explore my call as pastor and teacher. I am remembering the day Dr. Wehril called me into his office and spoke clearly and beautifully about my gifts for ministry and blessed me on a journey that I was just beginning. Hands, holy hands touch our lives and show us another story that we can live. Each set of hands that touch us, are the holy hands of God that offers us living water that nourishes us and fills us to overflowing. And we are changed.

As I babble on about the holy hands and the hands that have touched my life, I am wondering about the holy hands that have touched your life. How has God reached out to you? Who are the people who offered you living water? Like the hands that have changed our lives, so do our hands have the ability to change lives. So do our hands have a story to tell. So does God use our hands to change lives. Your hands are holy too. What story will your hands tell?