I have really learned to appreciate my hands lately. We don’t use utensils here in India, because it is culturally appropriate to only use the right hand to eat meals (note that we eat rice and curry for breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day). I need my hands to help communicate to the people here since the language barrier tends to be a major challenge. I have learned that a simple “namaste” with your hands together at your chest go a long way in offering kindness to a stranger. I am almost always holding one or two of our eleven little brothers at the house we are staying in. When I’m not holding children, it’s a safe bet that an Indian man is holding my hand affectionately (again, this is a cultural thing that’s apparently super normal here). At ministry we lift our hands in worship, lay hands on those who need prayer, and dance to “Our God is an Awesome God” whenever our pastor prompts us to. I flip pages through my Bible and write memories in my journal. I snap pictures of the monkeys, water buffalo, goats, sheep, cows, and the occasional elephant. I tend to burn my fingers on every cup of chai that we are given even though I know every time that it will be as hot as the surface of the sun. I’m careful to avoid touching my face because I’m always thinking about the potential bacteria and parasites I’ve gathered throughout the day. As I look at my curry-stained fingernails even now I wonder if they’ll ever return to normal or if the lingering “India” smell will ever fade away.
In many ways I hope they don’t ever go back to the way they were.
My hands have learned to love people more intentionally as I serve here deep in Somewhere, India. They have gently pinched the cheeks of many Indian children. They have rested on the heads of countless people needing miracles from God. They have gripped the arms of paralyzed men and a demon-possessed woman. They have held the hands of an elderly Hindu woman who gave her life to Christ. They have held handfuls of fresh water from a newly dug well that is sure to bring hope and life through the local church to a community in desperate need of the Living Water. They have been held outward awaiting a fresh renewal of the Holy Spirit on a day-to-day basis. They have rested on tired and defeated teammates as we encourage each other forward and lift each other up. They have slapped my knees in hysterical laughter at least a dozen times a day because Team Overflow is a really hilarious group of people.
I want to carry these life lessons with me for the rest of my life. As I reflect on the last few weeks, I’m tempted to grasp these memories and experiences tightly for fear of being vulnerable, but I believe the Lord wants me to keep my palms open wide to receive more blessings and to offer them freely to other people for the building up of the church and the furtherance of the Kingdom. Any works of my hands are filthy rags, however, compared to the goodness of God and the riches of His mercy. I am just thankful He chooses to use me as a tool in His hand.
His hands healed the sick, the blind, and the unclean. They lifted lame men from the ground and gave them strength to leap for joy. They washed the feet of the disciples in an example of humility. They held children and instructed us on how to have childlike faith. They broke bread and held a cup as He instituted the last supper with His followers. They stopped the stoning of a woman caught in sin, and offered grace as He wrote something in the sand that was meant especially for her situation. They were clasped for 40 days in the wilderness as He fasted and prayed and endured temptation. They were stretched out on a cross and had nails driven into them as He suffered shame and took on our sins. They were wrapped in grave cloths and laid in a tomb while darkness rejoiced. They triumphantly rolled away the stone of that grave and came out victoriously with the keys of Death and Hell. They bear the scars of His sacrifice and tell a beautiful story of redemption and victory. They held the hands of His disciples who were forever changed by seeing their resurrected Savior. They reached out to me at the age of 17 when I knew I needed Him. They comfort me and gently guide me from the time I wake up to the time I lay down at night. They extend grace and mercy to every person willing to repent, believe, and follow Him.
Anything my puny hands have done on this Earth is a pale comparison to anything He accomplished, but He still called me to reflect His image nonetheless. He has called us to be like Him, so I fight to learn how to do that better every day.
You see, hands have so much potential for good, but they can just as easily be used for evil. Selfish ambitions and fleshly desires often get in the way of the good works we are called to complete. Our hands were made to lift each other up and not tear each other down. As we fight together to bring God’s Kingdom to earth and push back the darkness, let us remember that we can just as easily wield a damaging weapon as we can offer a helping hand of compassion. These small parts of the body can be used in so many ways, but as for me I have decided to use my hands more like Jesus did: always for the edification and love of others.
The dust in my hair here is from the drill used to dig a new well at a local church where clean water was not readily available until this week. We had the opportunity to pray over the project and rejoice as the workers hit a huge aquifer full of fresh water about 30-50 feet underground!
