Open Hands Bring New Truths

Prying my hand and heart open

“ It’s mine . You can’t have it!”

“Ellie, open your hand.”

“N0.”

“I want to give you fresh candy, not that old stuff you found on the floor.”

“NO!”

I know many of you have heard similar arguments from your grandchildren and children.  The tight fisted one just won’t open up her hand to what could be better. Instead, she holds tight to what is in her hand.

That sounds like we adults sometimes.  We have in our hand sickness and are so anxious; we can’t open our hands to accept healing.  We have in our hand bitterness, and we can’t open our hand to give or accept forgiveness.  We have in our hand sorrow, and we look only at our broken heart and cannot open our hand to God’s comfort. 

I remember when my art teacher, Bill Inman, told me to open my hand and hold the brush loosely.  My grip was white knuckle tight because I was unsure if I released my bulldog grip, if I could be successful. Even though my strokes were tight and not professional, I was afraid to try a different grip. Life holds so many of these paradoxes, but we seem  to relearn the same lessons over and over.

Just like Ellie, my granddaughter, we think having some candy is better than your big sister taking the candy in your hand. It requires us to surrender as well as trust.

I have learned some wonderful truths when I finally opened my hand to others.  When reaching out to the Kazakhs, they taught me the beauty of pure friendship.  I became my mother’s caregiver for five years and learned to love her in a way I had never known.  I reached out for total healing for John, our oldest son , trusting he would not to be crippled from purthees disease, and he walks tall and even to this day.  Adam, our youngest, required me to go to bed six months to keep  from loosing him. I trusted and believed that Jesus would give me a healthy son.  Adam weighed ten pounds 9 ounces at birth and was one month late. He made it and made it big. Regardless of what the doctors diagnosed for Denny , Jesus opened my heart and Denny's that he would not to be plagued with cancer or chemotherapy.  All those prayer petitions were fulfilled because I surrendered to Jesus and asked Him to make the way.  I couldn’t hold on to my fears, my logic, history, case studies, or probabilities. I  had to trust every moment of every day.  It’s much easier to do so every moment than try to climb the mountain all at once.  Now, I am required to trust each moment again.  This time I am opening my hand for a kidney stone to pass.  Moment by moment I am feeling the presence of the Holy Spirit and the power of my prayer partners because I want fresh manna, not the old from the dirty floor. I am learning not to hang onto what I know or have in my clenched fist, but I still resist sometimes.  Why?  I'm not sure, but I know trusting a moment at a time seems doable. When doubt or fears pop in my head, I just say, " Wait one moment, I'm trusting right now."