Holy Hands

Everyone struggles. There are times when we can read one phrase of one verse of Scripture and it can speak volumes to us. That is why it is so important to read God's word - especially when we don't feel like it.

This piece was written one day when things were not going well. And God spoke to me.

Thanks be to God, that He is much more willing to speak to us, than we are to listen.
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Holy Hands

The scriptures tell us (1Timothy 2:8) that we should pray while lifting up "holy hands." But my hands aren't holy. They're dirty. They're stained and they're scratched and they're worn. They cling tightly to resentments and regrets, and then clutch at annoyances when they think no one is looking...

There's anger under the fingernails and if one sniffs closely, the stench of ground in sin still lingers where they have dug through dirt and sought to uncover filth. Despite my vain attempts at washing, they just… won't… come… clean…

Depression ties them together and fear paralyzes them. While (I don't think) they have deliberately sought to harm someone, they have not always been extended in help and friendship either. And sometimes, they're even clenched in isolated exclusion.

Furthermore, they hurt. Scars of long ago wounds can still be seen and callouses of painful memories and hard times cover the palms. And occasionally, a raw word can still pull a nail to the quick.

So how, I cry, can they even attempt to lift themselves anywhere near, anything holy? The answer is, "they" can't.

I close my eyes and imagine the blood of the Lamb pouring over my dirty, filthy, stinking hands and watch as it all just washes away.

Every mar and every stain; every hurt and every pain. Every failure, every sin, every "almost, might have been", are now gone. And I sing, "Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow. Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

And then I see, as Aaron and Hur held Moses' tired and aching arms up during battle, so Christ Himself has washed me and His nail scarred hands hold my now holy hands aloft while I pray.

And so pray, I must…

Betty J. Newman ©2005