I’ve always been one to notice hands.
When I first meet someone, I become very quickly acquainted with their hands whether I end up actually having a conversation with them or not. I’m not sure why.
Even when I think of some of my closest friends, most of the time what comes to mind is a picture of their hands- the complexion, their fingers, the way that person moves them when they speak or sing, etc.
My mom always jokes with me because I once broke up with a boy because I wasn’t attracted to his hands. It’s a quirk I have, I know- but sometimes I can’t help but think about hands.
Hands are used for work, yes. When you’re on the job and *in my case* fixing 20 drinks a minute and fumbling through change, they’re used for work.
But hands are also an outer expression of the heart.
They show love when they’re intertwined with another’s hands, and from heart-to-heart you’re saying, “I’m here for you. We’re in this together.” They show greed and distrust when they’re clenched around something and won’t let go. They show enthusiasm as they wave around in conversation. They show surrender when they’re high in the air open wide.
“I stretch out my hands to You; My soul longs for You, as a parched land.” -Psalm 143:6
I couldn’t help but ponder this the other day for a reason unknown to me. Maybe it’s because my mind was just running wild or because I needed (and still need) the reminder.
You see, I’m beginning the very short time I have left of Samford with people asking me all the questions. What am I going to do after school? What’s my profession (hate that one)? What’s my plan? And to be honest, I wish I had answers for those people and for myself.
I feel as if when I’m asked those questions I should be apologetic for not knowing. I feel sorry that I don’t have a plan for myself- especially to all of those who think so highly of me and have worked to get me to this point. I feel as if I owe them a plan.
When it all gets to be too much, I resort to a half-smile and change the subject and end up in my room at night staring at my ceiling wondering when God is going to let me know what I’m doing with my life. I end up frustrated and very very impatient. I bet if I were to look down at my hands, they’d be clenched. Because in those moments….I don’t trust that He’s going to show up.
In the middle of all the unknowns, we’re called to trust Him with all of it. We’re called to open up our hands and receive His timing and His plans even without knowing what they are because they’re better.