In Good Hands

It is a well known truth that magic rings re-size themselves to the user. While it may be argued that the one ring had a mind of it’s own and slipped that adjustment in favor of sliding off at inopportune times, it - for the most part, fits Isuldur, Gollum, Bilbo, Frodo, Tom Bombadil, Galadriel, and of course Sauron himself, who all can be presumed to have quite varied ring sizes.

Sometimes I think God ‘s hands are a little like magic rings. I feel like they adjust depending on what he knows is best for us. In my head that adjustment really does have to do with size. Many times I can envision God as my big brother, he is a hug, a playful shoulder punch, the hand stabilizing on uneven ground, and often reaching back grasping forearm to forearm to help me jump over dangerous crevices.

That forearm to forearm grasp has played a very important role in my life. During times of doubt and struggle someone reminded me that in that grasp I could let go, but the connection wasn’t severed. It didn’t depend on my strength but his, and I could have supreme confidence in the strength of those scarred hands. He won’t lose his grip. The scars speak to the fact that he has experienced the ugliest we all can offer and still has decided to hold on.

I am a crafter by nature, and often when creating I don’t stop to find a ruler. I use my hands. If the first piece was three fingers wide and the span of my thumb to pinky long, I can easily replicate that on the second piece. The book of Job tells me God crafts that way too, except that his hand spans measured the distance between galaxies and he held the oceans in the hollow of his hand. I need this immense, creative God.

When I need to process, to think, even to get away from thinking and just be for a bit, I head to the woods, the botanical gardens, hiking trails and parks. There is something about experiencing Gods universe that Pinterest cannot emulate. The taste of the air, the smell of growing things, a sky that is a constantly changing masterpiece of cloud and grey and blue and sunset. In those places there is a comfort in a God with hands that big. You feel small, and that is not always a bad feeling. Because you also can see the intricacy of design, the care in the details and know inherently that small does not mean overlooked, that I am a part of the creative genius of the mighty hand of God.

In the Psalms David talks about being broken. He talks about the times he feels his insides melting. David was a man in touch with emotion and he put that into songs. I know that broken, empty, melted feeling too. When it comes at night I remember how David talked of God. How he talked of the strong fortress and in the same song talked of the God who gently tucked us under his wing like a bunch of baby chicks. At nights like this I curl into a fetal position in the hand of God. It is big enough to hold me close, strong enough to keep out the enemies. Larger than God incarnate as a man who understands and can grasp my hand, but much smaller and more comforting than the awesome immensity of the God who created ex nihilo.

I have needed this hand as of late. And I continue to love the picture of baby ducklings or goslings nestled warm and safe under the covering wings.  Perhaps because as a mother, sometimes the emotional wreck that I am comes from worries over my children and the paths they are on, the onslaughts they are facing. It is good to know that this hand is large enough to grasp my family, to cover us and protect the whole clutch and brood.

Sometimes we are exhorted to “be the hands of God” in our circles of influence.  Maybe it was just watching Captain Marvel again last night in an attempt to distract myself from things that are far out of my ability to control, but the visuals of glowing fists came back to me yesterday, when friends surrounded our family in prayer, when they reached out in connection, when one stopped by with a bag of goodies for my daughter. I do not know the theology underpinning this other than that we are asked to love each other. In times that we do, I do think he works through us. It may not provide the visual stimulus of glowing tendrils wreathing our hands, but my imagination can certainly provide that.

So for the next few days, maybe weeks, maybe months. I am going to try to focus on hands. We will be meeting the hands of healers and caregivers who are strangers. We are surrounded by family and friends whose hands are lifting us up in prayer. Gods hands are surrounding us - all of them. The ones of small little ones who play with my daughter in the church nursery, who we can delight in their antics and who bring so much joy, all the way to the immense hands of the God who created on a scale that ranges from a microcosm of subatomic complexity to the inspirational expanse of the multi-verse.

We truly are in good hands.