The story of my hands

The time has come to tell the story of my hands.

In my younger, carefree days (ha!), I never paid any attention to the posture of my hands. But the past year or so, I have been made aware (mostly by my husband!) that my hands have been permanently clenched.

This reaction, I reason, is a product of nature and nurture. My heritage is German, Scottish, Irish and English. Not exactly a passive pedigree. My granddaddy apparently used to say of my grandmother that she was "more man than I am" -a reference to her toughness. I doubt anyone has ever "pushed over" one of my aunts and lived to tell. (Kidding) But, in reality, I come from a line of strong men & women. You might even call them a little bit feisty. I'm not voicing this as a complaint in any way. You know how girl's have baby names picked out right? Well, since everyone around me has babies now, I've been thinking about what I would name a baby, if I should ever have one. And, were I to have a baby and that baby were to be a boy, I like the name Aiden. I didn't know what this name meant, but I just liked it. Well, I was in the library a couple of days ago and happened upon the "Baby Name Bible" - (it was filed in the travel section on accident, no one panic please) So I looked up the name "Aiden." Guess what it means? Irish for "little and feisty." Now I like it even more.

And nurture, well, I've written about how I was raised among wolves- I mean, boys. :) I learned to tough it out early, and if I was ever going down, I was going down swinging.

But when you get older and you can't swing your way out of things anymore, the feisty can only form a fist. They'll likely never swing it. Still, I'm poised to defend myself, when the need arises.

During this time, God has walked with me- every single fist-clenched moment. Reassuring me with His love, calming me with His peace, instructing me with His Word. I will never leave you or forsake you. Fear me, not man. I alone can save you.

And then, this-

For I am the Lord, your God,
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you,
'Do not fear: I will help you.'

I imagine this verse as a personalized note:
Feisty Little Meredith. When your hand is clenched like that, I cannot hold it. You don't have to be so scared. Hold my hand. I will help you. I will defend you. Trust me.
Love,
Your Abba

Since getting my note from Abba, my hand is loose once again. First time in a looooong time. It dawned on me at first on a walk- I guess it was about a week ago. I had the dogs leashes in my right hand and shifted them to my left. I stretched out my fingers so Abba could hold my hand.

Andy still notices me curling my fingers now and then. He'll say something to me to check up on me or just to tease. But we both know that my hand is at peace, as well as my heart- because it is trusting in my Helper.

I will most likely always be feisty. I believe Abba made me that way. I think He likes me that way. But I know He wants me to trust Him first. No more fists.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and...
tomorrow.