The Open Hand…

I cannot remember a day when my hand didn’t clinch tight.  Even as a babe it was always closing tight around what it beheld.  At first it was fear, than dreams of what I hoped would come, then a husband and kids… the kids crippled me.  They wound my hands up so tight.  From the first moment I held my oldest boy weeping, I mean utterly weeping, until today when I pulled my fourth off of the kitchen table (which he was standing on), my fists just want to snap shut.  Hold them tight, pulverize every ounce of joy out of each moment for fear the next moment may never come.

It is painful, keeping a tight fist, the arthritic ache that comes from gripping onto this earthly life so tight.  But in the moment that pain seems so much less than the alternative.  The pain of actually opening my hands and letting go feels utterly intolerable.  The helpless fearful act in the opening of surrender is soul bearing.  Like a quiet punch to the gut, I can feel it so deep.  I want to contract and control and have it my way. But my way… is really just an illusion.  Like the fruit that Eve’s eyes fell on that fateful day in the garden, an illusion of a better, fuller life.  The ugly truth of self-sufficiency hidden beneath the shimmery surface of self-control.  Will I eat of its fruit?  Will I listen to the lies that say “I know better than Him”?

The lover of my soul is beckoning me to open my hands, to release my grip on this one life, to trust Him.  Not so that I can free fall into the dark abyss, but so that He can hold these hands.  You see if I am holding on so tight to all the things that matter I have no room for the one who actually does.

And even knowing that. it. is. still. hard. to. let. go.  I am so hell-bent in my meager play in the mud ways that I can’t see the beauty in His plan.  Most days I am spiritually blind and just plain scared of Him.  I wish there was a pill I could take, a book I could read, a quick fix that would solve this problem, but the only solution there is, is Him. He is the salve to heal my wounds- the one who asks for my opened hand.

But He can only be found as I begin to live in this moment, not thinking-fearing the next.  Being here, with Him, thanking Him for right now, for yesterday, for love of life, and eyes that see Him and a heart that longs for Him and hands that can hold His…

Only in that moment can I begin to open my hands to Him and all that He gives.  And each moment of raw openness builds on the next and I am WITH HIM with OPEN HANDS in THIS MOMENT.  If I leap to the next my hands snap shut again.

TOO MUCH…

The allure of control seizes me and in my carnal mind I need more than just trusting in Him. I can only open hand live- fully live- right. here. with. HIM.

The thing is, here can hurt.  Here, can contain so much we can’t even hold here.  But isn’t that the point?  The “can’t hold here” is the open hand surrender that cries out for God to take what we can’t hold.  To shoulder the load that is far too heavy for our shoulders to bear.  Even writing this hurts.  The acknowledgement our utter helplessness and our total need of hands to hold what we can not bear is the “saying out loud” that there will be so much more coming that I can’t hold.  But there I go again moving past the now, with Him, hands laid open, holding His…






 

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