With our hands we wave hello. We also wave goodbye.
In the courtroom we swear on the Bible with our right hand raised. Soldiers convey their submission and loyalty in a salute, a right hand over the brow. We pledge allegiance to our country with our hands and show solidarity by joining hands.
We create beautiful masterpieces of art, volumes of books, and culinary delights with our hands. We perform delicate surgery, we build skyscrapers, and we mine for jewels with our hands.
With our hands we pray to God and with our hands we lift up those who have fallen.
But we also know a hand can grasp a knife, pull a trigger, and wield a sword. A hand is a weapon unto itself when curled into a fist. And a hand can accuse as loudly as a voice when one of its fingers is pointed in anger. The same hands that can build a palace can build a dungeon. Hands can push away, knock down, set afire, and crush. Hands can destroy as easily as create.
How can both good and evil come from our hands? The answer, of course, is that our hands are simply servants of the brain, employees of the heart. We choose how they serve and whom they serve. From the depths of who we are and what we value come the blueprints for how our hands will function. Can you imagine how different life would be in our world if we offered up open hands to God to be used for good? If we purposely chose to let our hands be instruments for grace, compassion, and encouragement? If more of us decided our collective hands could change the world, one action at a time?
Like so many things, this mental shift would have to begin not with our hands themselves, but in our hearts and heads; with how we think and what we value—never an easy endeavor. But oh, so worth the effort: to decide to build up, not tear down; to hold close instead of push away; to applaud more and accuse less. Let’s do it!
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Comments
I'll shake on it! Great story. It's amazing to me how much my hands look like other members of my family. Now that I'm 30 I see my mom in my hands, and my grandmother. This mother's day in fact, my mom and I went to get a manicure together....sitting next to each other, she paused for a moment after I asked the technician for a 'high buff' instead of color..."that's exactly the way grandmother always liked her nails".
It feels good to write.
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