This morning I watched as you discovered your hands. Your fat little fingers reached out and grasped hold of mine. And as you brought my hand toward your mouth your eyes widened with wonder.
I began to dream of what those hands may someday do.
You may have the hands of a craftsman. A mechanic or woodworker. Rough, calloused hands. Useful hands.
Beautiful hands.
Perhaps your hands will be soft. Hands used to press keys on the computer. Hands used to write. Hands forming words of impact and influence.
Beautiful hands.
Your hands may be dirty from working the soil. They may stroke the fur of a beloved pet or firmly grip the chalk as you mold young minds. They could grasp the ragged rocks as you climb a mountain or gently pick fruit from a tree to share with a friend. Hands that delight in the world around you.
Beautiful hands.
Someday I pray your hands will be wrinkled from soaking in the dish water. Crusted with paint from a child's art project. Recovering from a paper cut after folding yet another paper airplane. Hands used to brush silky hair, change stinky diapers, dress little bodies. Hands that will cause the laughter of ticklish children. Hands that steady your bride on your wedding day. Family hands.
Beautiful hands.
Your hands can be used to bring comfort to the aged. Food to the hungry. Peace to the harassed. Help to the helpless. Hands of compassion.
Beautiful hands.
Of all these things, my greatest desire is for you to have hands of worship. Hands that are raised in adoration of the King. Hands that hold a worn Bible. Hands that frequently fold in prayer.
Because if your hands hold firm to these tasks, your hands will reflect the greatest hands. Hands that are scarred. Hands that stretched out on a cross. Hands strong enough to hold all your dreams, pains, fears, and joys. Christ's hands.
Beautiful hands.
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