I will get down on my knees and pray. My hands are folded reverently in front of me. I stare at them. They’re not yours, they are my own. What is it that they did today, these hands? What do they say about my day, about me? [PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING]
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Did they do kind things for others? In the end, only kindness matters. Did they wipe away a tear? Did they hug a child? Did they rub a shoulder? Were they supportive? Did they caress the cheek of a lover? Did they welcomingly shake the hand of a stranger? Did they hold a door? Did they fulfill a promise made to another? Did they courteously waive on a fellow driver? Did they reach out to help someone in need without being asked? Did they share? Were they patient? Did they make something… special? Were they relied upon by someone else? Did they text a positive message? Did they write a letter or dial a phone number just because? Did they play? Did they love? These hands folded now in front of me. There are no illusions or lies to what our hands do, or don’t do. Their actions are an account only of what we did, not what we intended to do. When we focus on our thoughts and what we were thinking, or on our hearts and the way we were feeling, we can trick ourselves into believing that we did more, or rationalize away the excuses for not doing more because those things that got in the way seemed worthy, necessary, unavoidable in the crush of life. It is an example of the Observer’s Paradox. But those hands, my hands, hold the history of the actions I took today. They can’t talk, yet they say so much about me, if I listen. They don’t think, yet they carry out the commitments of my conscious and subconscious thoughts. There are no pretenses, no excuses, no “if onlys’” or “I shoulda’s”. They reflect my priorities that day. They did what they did. Their actions are the real story – a recording of what I’ve done, not what I said I was going to do. How did I not see this before? This revelation that the actions of the hands, the history they write today, reveal nearly everything about me, about who I really am. Is anyone besides me watching what they do? Tomorrow evening, when I sit, eyes closed, upon my cushion holding my hands at my sides, fingertips touching, will it be any different? What will make it so? * * * * * * * The words in italics above are lyrics to a song by Jewel entitled Hands, which inspired this article. Her song concludes… We are God’s hands We are God’s eyes So, what did these hands of God do today? |