This morning, before church, I had a task to complete. That task was to bake about 5 dozen sugar cookie cutouts. I set my alarm early enough to be able to wake up in plenty of time to complete said task, and all before the kids would likely wake up. Which, as fellow parents know, means that I would accomplish the task in about half the time as I could otherwise.
But, alas, it was not meant to be. My 3 year old daughter awoke when I did and it didn’t even cross her mind to request permission to help. She ran into the bathroom, pajamas and bedhead and all, calling out, “I’ll help you, mama!”, grabbed her little stool, and brought it to the kitchen counter to assist. She wanted to add the flour, roll the dough, help press the cookie cutters down onto the flattened dough, and take just a couple tastes of cookie dough throughout the process.
At one point toward the end, my daughter realized that her hands had flour stuck to them. “Oh no, mama, look!,” she exclaimed as she showed me the palms of her hands. When I saw them, I said, “It’s okay, honey – look at mine!” I showed her my hands, as tops and bottoms were completely covered in a thin layer of flour. When she saw that, she instantly placed both hands on the floured surface of the counter and gathered even more onto her hands, so that they would look a little more like mine.
Isn’t that something? The very thing to which she had first reacted with dismay, discomfort, maybe even disgust became the thing she suddenly wanted more of, and for the mere sake of her hands resembling mine just a little bit more. Once she saw the state of my hands, she thrust her palms onto that flour in an effort for her hands to look just like mine.
Her endearing response made me wonder. Are there things in this world that I see or experience or feel that cause me dismay, discomfort or disgust… things that I see from the purely physical perspective and consider them as something I simply don’t want. I’d rather keep my hands clean, sans flour, and have all things to my personal liking. I mean, don’t we all?
But then. Right when we look at our hands and think, “Uh, can this just get wiped away? Can this be taken from me? I don’t think I like this.” Right then, there is Someone listening, right there with us, who responds in the way only He can. He doesn’t tell us that we’re going to go through life all clean and hunky dory, perfectly to our liking. He doesn’t tell us that He will just take over from here and that we don’t need to worry about soiling these little mitts of ours. No, He lifts His own hands and shows us, “Look at Mine.”
Hands that first stretched wide in a stable built for animals. Hands unafraid to touch the diseased and unclean. Hands that reached out to those the world would choose to forget. Hands that broke bread with the very same souls who would later betray and disown Him. Hands that stretched wide on wood with love for you, for the whole world. Hands that fought and defeated death and sin. Hands that ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of God. Hands that, to this very moment, never stop reaching out to each of us.
The moment I find myself in a position of feeling like there is something I wish I wasn’t going through, and I try to present it to the Lord as pure mess that I just don’t want, He lovingly shows me that He is no stranger to mess. He is no stranger to experiencing the things of this world that no one (aside from Him) would choose to endure. When I am tempted to think that I know the best solution to a problem, God reminds me that not only may there be purposes involved that are greater and bigger than just me, but that also such experiences can actually make me more like Him. They can strengthen my understanding just a little bit more, and they can aid in granting me just a little bit more of His wisdom. The world may see messy, mucked up circumstances, but the Lord sees the heart work taking place. He sees the ripple effects. He sees the relational impact and the eternal development occurring. He knows what He’s doing, and one of the hardest but most freeing decisions is to believe that He knows better than we do.
Ephesians 5:1 tells us to “be imitators of God, as beloved children.”
When I see what Jesus endured. When I see His hands. Can I look at mine and choose to grab hold of the mess before me, the same way He did? Choose to reach into the situations that are difficult, and grab hold of His promises? Choose to live into those hard places and circumstances that I wouldn’t have chosen, but which I can choose to see as opportunities to be just the tiniest bit more like my Father?
When we say we want to be like Jesus, are we really prepared for what that means? I pray that the Lord continues to work in me so that I can confidently reach out, take hold and live into the messiness of life. That, like my daughter enthusiastically and immediately putting her hands into the flour once she saw that mine were covered, I can embrace whatever scene before me as a chance to be more like Jesus. “He must become greater; I must become less,” as John 3:30 states.
Whatever your mess, God knows what you are going through. He won’t leave you to walk through it alone. He understands and He loves you. Isaiah 49:15-16 includes, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
It may be a difficult thing to do, and it definitely is for me sometimes….but try to search deep and consider the eternal over the temporal, reflect on how this situation may be drawing you closer to God, sculpting you into someone who resembles Jesus just a little bit more, or refining your faith in ways you maybe never even knew could still have room for growth.
“It’s okay. Look at Mine.”
Hands secured to a cross, securing our place in eternal glory with Him someday. No matter the state of our hands, when we look at His, we can know that, indeed, it really will all be okay.
John 10:29,
HLC
sacred strokes 