I rather like old hands. Besides the fact that I have a pair (they’ve been hanging around for 78 years now–no pun intended), hands can tell quite a bit about a person. Most days, my hands look a bit like the ones in the picture…dirty. I’ve always worked, and for the most part I’ve worked with my hands, especially in these later years. They get broken nails, dirty, nicked, cut, scarred, stained, and the old dry skin with tons of age lines and wrinkles in them adds some priceless character. Whenever I see hands like mine, I know that those hands have a story there somewhere, and most likely it would be an interesting one.
I have nothing against anyone whose hands show no wear and tear or battle scars, but the only conclusion I can draw from seeing hands such as that is that perhaps the person has a more sedentary lifestyle and most likely doesn’t use his hands for very much manual labor. The world needs those folks just as much as it needs those of us whose hands tell another story.
Regardless of whether we’re farmers, desk jockeys, mechanics, preachers, or whatever, we typically all have hands. Whoever we are, we need to remember that we each, every one of us, have a hand (though we may forget about it every once in a while) that is far more important than either of our own.
Our real job, not our worldly job, is to focus on the Lord and doing His will as we live our everyday lives – because He is always there for us, holding our hands, helping us, guiding us, and giving us strength along the way.
My personal history is far from nice. For the most part, until this Jesus thing changed me, I left a trail of trash, broken people, crud and corruption behind me as I did life. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is. One thing I learned very clearly when I started to understand grace, is that God’s hand WAS all over me throughout my life, whether I wanted it or not, whether I knew it or not, and whether I accepted it or not. He protected me from myself, other from me, and me from others in ways I will probably never know. His hand IS still all over me….and now I am able to clearly see that He is holding my hand, he is helping me, he is guiding me, and he is giving me strength along the way. His hand has NEVER left me.
That last paragraph is exactly what you can say about yourself if you want. Because it’s true.
The condition of our hands means nothing, nor do they say anything about our hearts and where they are at. Hands down, the only hand that matters is the hand of God all over your life.
4 thoughts on “Hands Down”
Yes. My hands don’t tell the whole story.
They’re beaten up, scarred up, used.
They have built, they have torn down, but God has always used these hands of mine to His Glory, wether I knew it or not.
I love your thoughts on hands. My hands are much like yours and have worked the earth the wood and many brushed knockes wrench’s. When God took my hand and lead me out of darkness it was the same hands but with new purpose. Love ya Bro. Buster
Thank you for sharing your beautiful thoughts and your kind words.