Your Hands

Note:
Sorry that I’ve been a little MIA. It was a much needed break from blogging – I was starting to only write to write. Yet, I really want to be writing because God deserves the all the glory for the work at Kyambogo University and ECLAC

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Psalms 16:8 - I have set the LORD continually before me; Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Psalms 143:6 - I stretch out my hands to You; My soul longs for You, as a parched land. Selah.

Luke 4:40 - While the sun was setting, all those who had any who were sick with various diseases brought them to Him; and laying His hands on each one of them, He was healing them.

I remember well when I used to have nightmares as a child. The cassette tape that played as I laid in bed would snap loudly as it stopped, making my heart race almost faster than my imagination. Visions of kidnappers and other menacing characters jumping up to catch me would flood my focus. Uttering my mother’s name, quietly at first and then louder when her calming voice failed to be heard, brought her to my side. Her presence, her touch, and the smell of her skin would instantly give me peace. My small voice recounted the things that scared me and my mother’s response was always this: “Ask Jesus to hold your hand”.  Simple. She left my room, I opened my hand, squinted hard in concentration, and I tried to feel the hand of Jesus in my own hand instantly feeling safe.

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Walking down the stairs through the basement door was a menacing mission full of possible dangers. Each step of carpet quickened my heartbeat with fear as my courage trembled toward the entrance. My eyes closed as I extended my right hand, palm facing up, and breath from my lips began to become short, loud, and hollow.  My concentration focused intently on feeling the tangible hand of an invisible God. I wanted so much to feel His touch as I faced the blackness that was the cold, empty basement. Whispering, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, take my hand.” And with my extended hand closed over the fingers of my Refuge, willing my whole being to feel them, I flicked on the basement light and felt the suspense scatter to live behind the walls.

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Of course, the hand of Jesus is not as tangible as I wanted it to be when I was a frightened child, but it was a way I remembered that Jesus is always there by my side.

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Hands. There is special importance and profound significance I’ve found with hands.

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There is a story I recall that I had to read for school. It was telling about a girl who had rough, calloused, strong, and bruised hands; a stark contrast to the delicate hands of the other girls around her. However, her hands showed signs of her service to people. Those callouses and bruises were a testimony of this girl’s love, service, and obedience towards the Lord. The story concluded that the most beautiful hands are not attractive in appearance, but beautiful hands are those selflessly willing to be used by the Lord to love others. This story has always stayed with me in the vault of my memory ever since and it allowed me to become aware of the power of a servant’s hands.

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My best friend and I made it a tradition to take a photo of our hands when we were in exciting places or during meaningful experiences together. We did not continue this for long, but revisited it when she married the man who would replace me as her best friend until death do they part. As it should be. Her finger glittering with happiness next to mine – hands that will always hold each other up in encouragement and understanding…even across the world.

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As I have grown up, I’ve noticed that I’ve always admired my dad’s hands. Strong and wide. Height and hands are the only physical traits I seem to really appreciate in men and hope my future husband possesses (as silly as it sounds). Strong hands enveloping mine with support, love, and in unity with my heart.

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The coolness of my mother’s hands brushed the hair off my face whether in tears or in fever. Her hands will always be a source of my comfort as she uses her hands for the work of the Lord.

Grandma B had the most interesting hands. Her middle fingers were slanted at the top and sometimes they would shake on their own. Yet, they were beautiful to me as she told stories of her life on the farm and stories of playing the piano at the barn dances. I loved watching her hands skillfully tend to her flowers and tomatoes. Her fingers would seem in their natural state as they pressed the ivory keys on her piano so effortlessly. Even when I held her hand for the last time in her hospital bed, her hands seemed precious to me.

And the hands of Grandma R as she rolls out Christmas cookie dough – gently stretching it as if it is fragile. Her fingers look so natural and skilled in the kitchen. Even as she prays for all of her grandchildren, her hands are still strong, folded together as she places her trust in Jesus.

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It took me a long while to open up and allow people to listen to me sing and play my guitar. With a lot of coaxing and encouragement, my friends in college managed to get me to perform for them the song, Your Hands by JJ Heller. My hands plucked and my lips sang, “When my world is shaking, Heaven stands. When my heart is breaking, I’ll never leave Your hands.” The hands of God will always be holding you if you invite Him into your life. The song became the one people wanted me to play the most.

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Sunday mornings I stand in St. Kakumba Chapel, the pew in the front next to a dear friend of mine, clapping my hands to songs of praise. Hands lifted around me. Hands pointing the glory to the One who is responsible for the countless blessings we’ve experienced. Hands folded in prayer – thankfulness pouring from our mouths and even the smallest of worries in our minds.
And hands shake mine with warmth and love. Sometimes the only physical contact in a day. Hands clasped together in various ways, uniting and binding, knitting together people who need the Lord. My hands receiving acceptance into the multicultural, multiethnic, earthly family of Jesus Christ our only Savior.

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As my students welcome me to school, I take their hands to greet them. My grip willing the hand to accept love from my heart as I attend to their needs physically and mentally.
The teachers cleaning, cooking, and caring for our students with their own, tired, generous, abused, stressed, underpaid (if paid at all), faithful hands.
My hands, task driven, working under the grace of the Lord. His own hands guiding my own even when His are not tangible or perceptible. The King of the Universe will always hold my hand.

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Those around me will never leave His hands.

                I’ll never leave His hands. And I pray that God will use these, small, white, imperfect hands for His work and glory.
                Amina (amen).

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Prayer:

- Praise that the teachers I work with at ECLAC (the school I am volunteering at) have received at least one month’s salary. Prayer for the salary issue to be resolved is still needed.

-Praise that the schedule I’ve helped implement is still being followed.

-Pray for God to help me and give us (me and the teachers) ideas on what to implement next at ECLAC for the benefit of our students.

-Praise that God has given me two ladies who I have built stronger relationships with and more opportunities to fellowship with them. Pray for the Lord to guide me in hospitality and generosity.
-The above means that the "guy situation" is better. Pray that I will still be keen and aware of my actions around them.

-Praise God for continued safety as I’ve traveled here and there on public transport and while I stay in a large house alone.

-Continued prayer for me to keep saying “yes” and to obey God’s commands throughout the whole of each day. Pray for protection from the traps Satan can entangle me.

-Pray that the Lord will break my heart for what breaks His.
-Pray for continued learning opportunities for language and cultural learning! That my brain will be able to hold more information.

-Pray for my upcoming visit to the Assistant Chaplain’s house (from church). She has a son with special needs. Pray that I will be an encouragement to her and the others in her family.

-Pray for my plans to visit Kenya in May go smoothly and the Lord will work out timing.

Highlights:

-I hosted some of the Compassion International staff at my house. I made pancakes and hash browns (things not too foreign to them) and they “attacked” them. After, we prayed together and we sang some worship songs together. Cooking and serving people who have accepted me into their family has made this echo-y house feel more like a home.

-Traveled to Jinja with a friend, also from Africa Inland Mission, over the weekend. I accompanied her as she visited an orphanage she worked at years ago, and met up with old friends. We had a relaxing/rejuvenating time in this slow and steady Ugandan town bordering Lake Victoria.

-The Chaplain at my church gave me the Luganda name, “Mirembe” (meaning “peace”). Being given a Ugandan name is kind of a big deal, but this one seems to have been informal and a great way for the Chaplain to make me smile. Consequently, part of my devotions have recently been about God’s peace.

-My kitchen sink is fixed! I don’t have to use basins to wash dishes. The water able to travel through the pipes. And I have a gas stove with more than one burner working! Not necessary luxuries for me, but I am thankful for it anyway.

-My relationships at school continue to grow. I am still learning how to communicate effectively and respectfully…which I still fail at from time to time. Some of the students have shown so much improvement despite the lack of support they are getting. I have to keep remembering that the slower I help things change, the better.

-The Lord has provided so much encouragement from two friends in particular. They bless me beyond words have prayed that God will fill the house with His presence.

Culture:
           Similar to Kenya, Ugandans love their chai (tea). “All the time is tea time!” Almost everyone in the country breaks around 10 AM to “take tea” and eat something small like mandazi (fried bread) and other various eats (also usually fried). This is considered their breakfast as Ugandans don’t like to eat very early in the morning. I am pretty sure the importance of tea was one of the many influences left from the British.

Luganda:

                Kulikayo (welcome back) and the response is nvuddeyo (I come back). It is very common for someone to welcome you back after a trip to the market or any other outing no matter how short/long.