Faith's Journey to Hope, Part 6: The Most Beautiful Hands

To ensure I wasn’t dreaming, I felt the need to keep pinching myself. *ouch* No, this was real. Dream’s desire had become reality.

Walking into Diane’s beautiful home, I smiled. Although I had seen pictures, nothing compared to His presence welcoming me. A peace beckoned me to enter. A quietness called my heart to begin “Faith’s” journey to “Hope”.

She had prepared a room for me. A haven. A sanctuary. A bed had been readied. A treasured heirloom draped it in warmth. A stuffed, fury friend offered chocolate. (As an aside, this chocolate tasted really good early the following morning while sitting in bed with a cup of decaf coffee!) My attention was drawn to a basket. My eyes watered. Little parcels of love. Wrapped and dated. One to open each day while I was there. How do I receive such love?

Overwhelmed by the preparation that had gone into my arrival. Was it not enough that Diane had willingly opened her home to welcome me…but, now to extend all this kindness was more than my mind could fathom and my heart receive.

Each gift chosen personally for me. Beyond the content was the sacrifice. Sacrifice of time. Sacrifice of offering. Sacrifice of pain. The detail and effort did not go unnoticed. Specific Bible verses. Cards mounted on coloured card-stock cut in cascading curves. Hand-written messages on each one. Created by scarred hands. Pain endured for the sake of love. The assembly of these was no small task. Designed by beautiful hands. For beauty, true beauty is found in love. The very most beautiful hands I have ever seen. Hands that resist surrender to defeat. Hands that triumph over trial. Hands that love, care, protect and embrace. I only see beauty my friend. (I can’t fathom the effort it took to prepare this basket of gifts. Diane…am I really…really…really that loved?)

It is great love that endures such pain for another. Pain ‘from’ transformed to pain ‘for’. Scars received to scars redeemed. As I reflected on how beautiful her hands were to me, I realized I had seen these hands pictured before. They looked so familiar. Ah yes…her Father’s hands. Nail-pierced hands. Hands cruelly wounded and marred, yet held by love. Oh, no shame my friend…no hiding…no embarrassment…they are the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen because they are just like Jesus.

Thank you for touching my life with His hands.