I think a lot about God’s hands.
Sometimes when I pray, I picture these big palms and digits holding the world in orbit right there in the middle of black-night outer space.
I see wrinkles on those palms, each one a line of a story-
the lady next door,
the man you’ve never even known existed.
Maybe His fingernails are a little dirty because He’s constantly digging in our dirt.
I imagine how He holds us all, all these tiny earth-bound bodies with kingdom-souls.
His hands, they’re always steady.
I’m not sure that there is much I can do to steady this world of ours.
There’s not much I can control.
I have the energy that I spend, the love I try to spread from my heart to someone else’s.
But God’s hands, they are vast. They are warm and mighty, and they hold a steady grip.
That’s what keeps the earth in orbit–
my Muslim sisters
my gay and straight friends,
the prisoners on death row,
and the children of Beirut.
These are the hands that created gravity, that crafted orbit,
so that as we watch the clouds slowly pass by in the blue-rimmed sky,
we see that yet another day has dawned,
and a kingdom of otherworldly mercy steadily approaches us.