The Work of Our Hands

I am knitting tonight, here on the porch in the last rays of the setting sun. My hands are moving, over and over, row by row, in a slow rhythm. Stitch by stitch, with needles, yarn, and patience, a soft shawl is gradually taking shape.

They're old, my hands, and getting stiff with age. One finger was broken in a fall down a staircase, long ago, and there's a faint scar on my left palm from a broken glass. My veins trace along under the old skin like meandering rivers. I can see the history of a long life in these hands, and that's all right with me.

Looking down at my hands as I knit, I begin to think of all the work they've done over the years. Mine, and yours, as well.

In all the worry these days about hands holding guns, punching and shoving, who speaks for the kindly hands doing their quiet work every day?

Do something for me. Look at your own hands. Really look. Now think of all the things you do every day, and all the things your hands have done over your lifetime.

You've probably used them to work over the years, to pay the rent and put food on the table, or at home, caring for your children. They were hard workers, your hands. For that alone, I'd whisper a thank you to those faithful servants.

What other good work have you done with those hands? I'll bet you've used them to hand out gifts. To cook meals and set steaming plates on a table. To write notes. To carry a sleeping child. To pet a dog and set her tail wagging.

Maybe you've used them to guide wood through the table saw and build something sturdy and strong, nail by nail; maybe you've held a brush and spread varnish, to bring out the glory of old wood.

Perhaps you've spaded the soil and planted seeds, and tended a garden over the summer months, or used those hands to stock shelves in a food pantry, to share with your neighbors. Or perhaps they've spent hours at a keyboard, shaping ideas and making them real.

For all the good work your hands have done, thank you.

It's getting too dark to see my knitting. I'll put it away, ready for another day. Time to make supper. But I think I'll say a prayer first; if you're a person who prays, feel free to join me.

Thank you, God, for my hands, for the strength to do what I need to do today. Some of my neighbors aren't as blessed as I am. I offer my hands to You, to do Your work where I can.

Thank You, too, for all the people doing good work today: the parents cooking meals for hungry children, caretakers lifting and feeding frail bodies, the teachers typing up their plans for the fall. Thank you for the strong workers hoisting loads, loading trucks, delivering mail, scrubbing and cooking. Especially, God, thank you for the doctors and nurses, whose hands carefully tend the desperately ill, working hard to keep them alive.

God, please look with love tonight upon Your children whose fists are clenched, or who are lost and caught in the cage of violence, and those whose hands are tied by addiction. Help them to open the doors of their prisons. Look down, too, on those who hold great power in their grasp. Guide them, God, and help them to use it for good.

And, dear God, may the good and kindly work of all hands, everywhere, bring about the comfort and healing we need in this hurting world.

Amen.