The Hands of God

The Hands of God

These hands have touched so many—

countless lives with boundless love.

Where do you begin to describe

something that has no end?

 

These hands held me before

I even knew I was.

Pictures are evidence of early love

cradling my little life,

swaddling my tender soul.

I found refuge in there shelter,

the shadow of her wide wings.

 

These hands caressed my hair

when I was sick and fevered,

Pouring oil into ruptured eardrums

and holding me fast 

as I curled up in her lap.

To this day I reach for the phone

when I feel under the weather,

her voice touches something deep inside.

 

These hands labored in the kitchen,

putting food on the table

even when we struggled to survive

with barely two nickels to rub together.

She was an extraordinary cook

never complaining a day of her life

as she served up meals

and cleaned up dishes we dirtied—

a servanthood we didn’t deserve.

 

These hands would rub my back

after a long day of work,

Nails alighting lightly on my itchy skin

with a swirling motion that left me

hypnotized in a suspense of disbelief.

What is it about a mother’s touch—

So delicate, so intricate? 

 

These hands formed a hug

that rivaled any embrace 

I have ever known,

drawing me in and enveloping

so completely and intimately

I wanted to stay there forever.

I’m a hugger because I was hugged—

I knew well the power of this gesture,

the rapture of being held with holiness.

 

And these hands are still holding on—

holding on for dear life—

clasping with love every last life

who has ever crossed her path—

loved ones near and far,

friendships new and old.

She knows no stranger.

 

These hands were surrendered

over 50 years ago at her salvation

to the God who reached out for her,

rescuing her beyond belief

from hell on earth and hell itself.

Since then, these hands 

have ceaselessly stretched out for others,

extensions of God’s mercy bending usward.

 

What are these hands touching so many

but the hallowed hands of God.