These are my hands.

These are my hands.  They are weathered now, not as soft and as supple as they once were.  They work hard.  They try.  They persevere.  But not without help, not without worry, not without consequence.

They are marked.  Not just by time or by scars, they are marked by a love that I still hold.  They are marked by me.  They hold my sins, my guilt, they hold my redemption.  They hold me – often literally.  They tell my story as much as my eyes (and if you look into my eyes you will see sadness, you’ll see joy, you’ll see hope; but that’s not the story for today).  Today is about my hands.

I talk with my hands, but more I speak through my hands (at times).  Whether I’m pretending to shake someone I want to get a message through (you know who you are!), whether I’m praying, whether I’m trying to build something that shows the beauty of this world beyond what a mere man can do.

My hands are a gift.  As much as the soil that I sometimes have to tend, the structures that I have to mend.  My hands resonate with the knowledge that everything I do calls back to the god that gave me breath.

My hands have held my three children.  My hands have broken ties.  Held the hands of the one I love, clutched together as I’ve cried through the night.

What is the work of your hands?  What do you do that glorifies your existence here?

What story do your hands tell?

A story of sacrifice?  Of working hard?  Or are they Porcelain, Beautiful and Pristine, away from tragedy or loss?  I think that would be the most tragic of all.  I don’t have beautiful hands.  (I have finally learned how to work with them.)  Hands I’ve held onto others and also let go.

“Make it your in ambition to lead a quiet life, working with your hands, minding your own business.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 4:11

I am not quiet.  At least not when around people.  I am quiet in my moments alone.  When I reflect.  I do work with my hands.  As a sacrifice and a praise to a power higher than myself.  Today I am five months into a new journey.  A journey not just of my soul, but also my mind and my body.  My hands – using them to give back to others.

AW

Breaking Point

 We as humans are magnificent creatures.  "Fearfully and wonderfully made"; capable of amazing achievements, heroic displays and this unexplainable 'grit' that surpasses the bounds of what nature sometimes considers possible.

We are strong.

Intelligent.

Resourceful.

Brave beings that often times don't know the word quit.

And we weep.

We tear up and fall.  We lay prostrate on the floor and cry out in our misery.  We succumb to our demons, to fear, to others who would keep us from rising up and taking our place among each other.  

We isolate.

We hide.

We seek refuge.

There is not just bravery or weakness.  They coexist within the very core of our being.  While at one moment so sure and full of the path ahead - in the next we can be overcome with massive sadness at all we aren't.  Every day we stand at the Breaking Point (I was going to call this blog Point Break, but I figure not too many will remember the Patrick Swayze/Keanu Reeves movie from the 90s, or the Thor reference from the Avengers' movies). 

For me that's when I face myself.  When I face the demons.  When I face the inner Darth Vader who's standing with his lightsaber before me in the cave.  I willingly entered into this.  I breathe and continue to do so.  And I also know there are battles to fight, others to walk away from and yet others that I need to RUN my ass from - as fast as old bones will take me!

My breaking point came swiftly last November, but it's not something that I am cured of or have forgotten.  We are human.  We are not relieved of the stress, the toil and the grind of this world just yet.  We are also still able to make a change here.  To wish upon a dandelion.  To chose each and every moment to "Let it come, let it flow and let it go", as my mentor keeps telling me.  I sit with my troubles, while at the same time so thankful for the breeze He touches my face with.  There will still be battles to fight.  Decisions to be made.  And also life to be lived.  Springtime trees to smell the aromas of new life.  Birds and bees.  Soon butterflies.  Rain.  Tears and the heavenly type.

I lost her last year.  I still mourn that relationship.  I still love.  I always will.  

Maybe one day. 

For now - I stand at my breaking point.  I look at the life I had.  Look at where I am - and know there is so much for me to do.  Life to live.  To relieve myself of self-pity and be of service.  To help others to grow.

Look at the little dandelion, it's yellow flower so simple.  And isn't it remarkable how that seedling we use to make a wish turns into the color that dots our landscape.  It's a beauty of transformation and not stopping at the breaking point, but finding another path.  Another way.

~ Peace

Chad

AW, Zadkiel