Dear God,
Today, I thank you for my hands. They are full of possibility and threat.
Fingernails bitten in anxiety, crepe paper wrinkles I never saw before, callouses, a scar and gash or two, wedding ring an enduring fixture, veins popping through, lifelines and health lines…
What shall I do with the hands you have given me?
This week, I can use these hands to wave palm branches to celebrate you. I can use these hands to do your work, to feed the hungry, to comfort the grieving, to hold the hands of the fearful, to put to paper the revelation of God, hands to love rather than to injure, hands to build up rather than tear down, hands to do what I can to heal rather than tear apart…
But I can also use these hands to cast lots for your clothing, to pat myself on the back, to defend my turf, to defend a notion that “what is mine is mine” when really it is all yours. And I beg of you, God, as I hear your words that “as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it unto me…” do not let me use my hands in any way to hold the whip myself, to beat down your crown of thorns with rods, to use my hands in any way to drive the nails into the cross.
God, I want my hands to be hands of love. Such a strange week, with so many conflicting emotions, God. Forgive me for misuse of my hands, and consecrate them for your glory. Amen.