My hands

I know this may sound bizarre, but I've always loved my hands. I like the shape and size, I like what they enable me to do. And I'm not the only person to recognize their value. Herb always tells me that he loves how soft my hands are, and many others have remarked similarly. Truly it is amazing that they are so soft because my hands are rarely at rest and are often immersed in hot, soapy water. So it is telling to me that my hands are losing their silky quality.

I noticed last week that my hands are more scaly, more wrinkly, not as smooth. And I think they have become the physical manifestation of my anxious spirit. I'm trying not to wash my hands unless there is good cause (going to the bathroom, food preparation), but I still think I'm overdoing it. I've never been an obsessive hand-washer, in fact I've mocked Herb many a time for that quality, but it's a current bi-product of my anxiety. As a result, the hands that I so cherished are beginning to crack.

I think my hands are symbolic of the goodness, the joy in my life that my anxiety is costing me. Satan is trying to use anxiety to steal the things that bring me the greatest joy and are the greatest blessing to others. Is it a coincidence that my areas of anxiety are the things that I use most to bless others, cooking, teaching, the works of my hands? I don't think so. I think Satan's trying to hinder my effectiveness, trying to stop me from blessing others, trying to hinder God's handiwork. He's trying to crack my spirit, my effectiveness, just as hand-washing has cracked my hands.

But if I've seen anything in this past year, I've seen God's ability to heal. Just like lotion will fill in the cracks in my hands, God will fill in the brokenness of my spirit. He will restore to me those things that bring me the greatest joy; I will continue to be His handiwork. His hands will heal mine.