My childrens’ devotional book referred to John 10:28 today. Jesus holds us tightly in His hands, with a promise to never let go and to never be snatched away. And He keeps all… ALL…of His promises.
Hallelujah!
I looked at my own hands after reading that verse. They’re ashy and well worked. Clean, but unmoisturized as the little blessings in my home constantly require something that makes applying lotion seem wasteful. My fingernails are currently longer than I prefer to have them. Oooh, and how I’d love to get a manicure. One of these days, maybe.
But they’re intact. My hands are whole and complete.
Jesus has holes in His hands. They were nailed to a cross, just to save lil’ me. And you too. These were the days before cosmetic repair surgeries. It was done roughly; the nailers weren’t going through any pains to assure that bones were avoided or that major arteries were spared. In addition to the nails going in through his hands, there was the actual cross. It was neither stained nor sanded. I’m sure there were splinters galore in His hands to add to the discomfort and torture of crucifixion.
During His brief life, Christ touched everyone, literally. He touched people. Raised them from the dead, healed them of diseases, physical and spiritual. He cuddled children and consoled grieving hearts. He even spat in the dirt to make mud and applied it to the eyes of a blind man. He pulled a then self-reliant and drowning disciple out of the water. He even restored a man to wholeness after amputation.
My hands feel somewhat inadequate. Jesus, full of perfect love in this flawed world, never hesitated to touch anyone. The idea of germs and ickyness stops me from touching a lot of things. And even a lot of people. Christ’s example gives me hope that I can do better.
Lord, may I not be afraid to use my hands to lead people to Your mighty hands.
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