The Hands of God 

Because I am a covenant child, I believe
that God carved my name on His palms
Long before the nails did their damage.
But I’d like to see that for myself one day--
My name protected by mangling nail scars.
Astonishing!

I’ve thought about His hands a lot.
Over time I have discovered
that I would receive everything
I needed to live from those hands, and yet,
many, many times I have also
desperately prayed that those hands
were filtering out the particular
"worst case scenarios" which happened to be
tormenting my imagination at the moment
before they could rain down like shrapnel knives
to shred my hopes.

I’ve felt I could heap things there too.
Fears, dreams, longings, trust,
rejections, anger , confusion, questions,
thankfulness.

Regularly, although sometimes reluctantly,
I have also entrusted those I love into His hands.
Gingerly, like I would hand over
pure crystal glass,
fragile and precious.
Eager to caution and anxiously remind Him--
yes, even remind God
whose breath shaped their lives from the beginning--
to "handle with care."
I hold my breath, almost afraid to let go
until I’m assured that he has a good grasp.
You know?
Astonishingly He puts up with that from me.

And then,
I have let those hands take my own,
forged at the time into determined fists,
to express my personal, immutable assessment--
my own signature "grip on reality"--
and massage some grace back into them.

I know I’m supposed to be living
somewhere past Thomas.
but to tell the truth,
one day I, too, want to see the hands of God.

                                Rev. Shirley Heeg