Take My Hands
I’ve put my life in your hands. You won’t drop me,
you’ll never let me down. Psalm 31:5
Have I really put my life in God’s hands? I’m good at seeking his love, guidance, comfort, and forgiveness, but I want the freedom of running my life my way. In the end, God must see me as a little kid holding on to one leg of her favorite doll while trying to pry it away from a friend, and saying, “Mine.”
God must get weary from the way I cling to him one moment and then pull away from the grip of his hand. Hands connect one to another—they also show weakness and strength. I look at my hands and can see why I would never be chosen to model a ring or a new color of fingernail polish. I call them “farm-woman” hands, because they resemble those of my mother and grandmother, who worked hard on the farm. My knuckles bulge, the forefingers are crooked, veins protrude, and brown spots freckle the skin.
However, when I turn over my hands, the skin of the palms is smooth and soft. The lifelines are the same ones that were imprinted in my baby book. A palm reader might say I will have a long life, and that I am willing to share, and that I am a hard worker.
As I work on the computer, file papers, fix a jammed copy machine, or shake someone else’s hands, I know that my hands are essential in my ministry in the church office. But they work best when I reach out and hold firmly on to one of God’s hands.
Lord, take my hands and let them move at the impulse
of Thy love [Verse 2 from hymn: Take My Life and Let It Be
by Frances R. Havergal, 1874, Public Domain.]