When given the opportunity to have my hands anointed with oil during Sunday service, my heart and mind exploded with what that actually meant to me. As our pastor created the sign of the cross upon my rough, dry hands, the full weight of the meaning and the possibilities caused my body to tremble ever so slightly.
I have always been somewhat embarrassed by my hands. They are my father’s hands, and his mother’s hands. I have short, very thick fingers and wide palms. Not my mother’s feminine, delicate hands, with fingers that fly across piano keys with flair. I am happiest when my hands are covered in winter gloves or mittens. To have attention brought to my hands is uncomfortable for me.
I learned an invaluable lesson on Sunday. To be in true service to God and our fellow man may not always be comfortable.
I have no great knowledge, and have no great skills. I have failed in service to the Lord more often than I want to admit. However, what I do have is the passion to keep trying.
These unworthy hands are now anointed. So, Lord, this is my prayer:
May my hands hold others close in comfort, kindness, friendship and understanding. May they cook and clean so that others will be filled and not hungry. May my hands plant flowers, vegetables and herbs to beautify and nourish. May these hands gently touch a forehead or a hand in prayer for those who are sick, cast down or broken hearted. May my hands never fold across my body to shut others out, but rather be open and stretched out to those in need.
Most of all, Lord, may my hands reach up for more of You.