He holds my hand

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This morning Caleb was sitting with me, holding tight to my hand.

They are growing up so fast. Getting more and more independent by the minute. But they still like cuddles, kisses and holding hands. I know that the day will come when they’ll roll their eyes and think we are gross parents and they don’t need us. They’ll think they won’t need to hold our hand.

As parents of little ones and also of grown up kids, I know that we will always long to be there for our kids. To encourage them and pray with them. We will always be there to offer a hand to hold.

How much more does our Heavenly Father long to walk with us through our days? He longs to take our hand and lead us to the Living Water that brings hope and peace and life. He longs for us to reach up from the pit we are in, He is extending His hand to rescue us.

That’s what this weekend is all about. Yes we’ll hide eggs and probably eat way too much. But let us not forget that it’s about His hands.

His hands that grasped his mother’s finger in the manger. His sin-less hands that walked this earth, that learned the ways of a carpenter. His hands that loved and healed and served. His hands that soothed the hurting and the sick and those drowning in their sin (that would be you).

His hands that carried the cross up the hill. His hands that endured ridicule and mocking and pain. His hands that were nailed.

His hands that reached out to the repentant thief on the other cross, that reaches out to you. His hands that promise eternal life.

His hands that were bloody and broken. His hands that His mother had to wash and wrap in clothes and bury in the tomb.

His loving, powerful, forgiving, hope-filled, God hands that rolled the stone away.

His hands that say, “Come, follow me. Leave the things of this world that promise the love and hope and peace you long for. It’s only through me that you will really find what you are looking for.”

His hands. Hands that forgive the prideful, the adulterer, the selfish. Hands that sooth away the pain and shame of a past too horrible to even talk about. Hands that reach through despair and grief and bring hope and healing.

Remember His hands this weekend. Give thanks for His hands.

And if you’ve never felt the love, the soothing power, the indescribable hope that is found through His hands; reach out. Reach up. He is there, holding out His hand.

His beautiful, pierced hands that are open to you and to me.

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