In His Hands

As a little girl, I had chubby little hands. They had creases in the palms and were so soft and squishy. I love to notice the little chubby hands and feet of babies. So soft and so perfect, with ten little fingers and ten little toes. How many of you look at the hands and feet of babies with the tiny fingernails and toenails? God’s miracle.


My hands, as a little girl, held M&Ms tightly to test the fact that ‘they melted in your mouth and not in your hands.’ That didn’t always work, by the way. Mom had to wash my hands after digging around in the dirt and catching fishing worms in a jar to go fishing. I remember a time when Mom used turpentine on my hands after I was poking around in the bubbles of tar after our town tarred the ally behind our house. It was such fun breaking the tar bubbles with a stick! But the tar was so hard to get off little hands, and we had to use that smelly stuff. It smelled like the paintbrushes my Dad would clean after he did a painting project.


My Mother received many loving gifts that came from my hands. A dandelion that I picked and held very delicately until it reached my Mother to brighten her day. I chose a red rose for her from the rosebush, but I had to be ever so careful not to get jabbed by one of those thorns. Mom received crayon drawn pictures that were hung on the refrigerator for all to see. I made pictures by gluing pasta shapes, or rice, onto construction paper to create a beautiful masterpiece. Do you remember doing that? Macaroni that was glued around a picture, as a frame, and then painted. Mom would smile as she would gently hold the finished project in her own hands.


My hands held a little tiny hammer about 8 inches long, and my Dad would allow me to hit the nails when he was doing a project. Sometimes I would ask him to pound with the hammer even if there was no project going on. He would get a piece of wood and a few nails and just let me practice my pounding. I had to hold the handle tightly to get a good hit on the nail and be ever so careful not to hit my other hand holding it. That didn’t always work out, either.


I still have Dad’s tiny hammer in our kitchen drawer. That hammer was held by my Dad’s strong hands, with a crooked little finger that he broke when he was a Marine, and healed crooked. His hands worked hard. You could tell just by the feel of them when he would hold my hand in his to cross the street. He had hardworking hands that could speak of World War II stories from a Marine’s point of view, working hard in a steel mill, and making repairs. That hammer that I hold in my hands today brings back many memories of my Dad in his Marine khaki pants with a white tee shirt that he would wear as he was working around the house.


Every Sunday, I would put on my dress to go to church. I would hold my little purse handle in my gloved hands as we would walk into the church building. That was about the only time I would wear my white gloves other than for dress up. My black patent leather shoes would click on the linoleum floor as I walked to my Sunday School room.

I very distinctly remember one Sunday morning, being about three years old, and walking into my Sunday School classroom. Mrs. Singleton, my teacher, met me with her beautiful smile as I entered the room. I took off my coat and passed it to her to hang it up. She cradled my face in her soft hands and said, “Good morning, Candy. Do you know that God loves you?” I can still see her face as I looked up into her sparkling eyes. I can still hear her voice saying that to me. I thought to myself later, “God loves ME?” As I think back to that moment, some 64 years later, I recall that was the first time that I felt that I was a part of the family of God; that He even loved me! She didn’t even know that was a moment that put my life in a purposeful direction.

Five and a half years ago, my sister, my son, his girlfriend, and two of our grand-daughters came to visit us in our home in Connecticut for a weekend in March. Our granddaughter, Ava, was three, and Harlee was ten. We had a great weekend! All of us girls went to have a manicure and pedicure. The manicurist painted the nails of our hands and feet. She gently massaged our hands, right in the palm where it gets tight from lots of use. It was a wonderful memory!

They all came for the weekend, not to celebrate a holiday, but they came to support me because I would have some significant surgery on Monday. On Sunday, all of us went to church together. As John lifted my name before God for my surgery during prayer, Ava climbed into my lap. During the prayer, she cupped my face into her hands and held it there during the whole prayer.

As that prayer continued, with Ava’s hands holding my face, I remember feeling utterly and completely loved. In those moments of that prayer, it was just Ava, myself, and God. I recall the tears that spontaneously came to my closed eyes and slid gently down my face, and with eyes still closed, she wiped them away. Such comfort from a little girl! It took me back to when I was three, and Mrs. Singleton did the same thing to my face and told me that God loved unconditionally.

I’ve come to know, without doubt, that God holds all of us in the palm of His hands, gently as a precious and delicate flower. It’s because of that unconditional love that we should not fear anything as long as we’re in the protective hand of God. Let us climb upon His lap, have him enfold our face in his glorious hands, and feel the safety, love, and protection that He gives us.

A song that is very meaningful to me is ‘On Eagle’s Wings.’ Composer Jan Michael Jonas penned it after he and a friend, Doug Hall, had returned from having a meal together and found out that Hall’s father had died of a sudden heart attack. Here are the lyrics:

You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord,
Who abide in His shadow for life,
Say to the Lord, “My Refuge,
My Rock in Whom I trust.”

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

The snare of the fowler will never capture you,
And famine will bring you no fear;
Under His Wings your refuge,
His faithfulness your shield.

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

You need not fear the terror of the night,
Nor the arrow that flies by day,
Though thousands fall about you,
Near you it shall not come.

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

For to His angels He’s given a command,
To guard you in all of your ways,
Upon their hands they will bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.

And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

Be blessed to be a blessing today,

Candy

Published by Candy Morgans

Being recently retired from the Healthcare Industry, and the spouse of a retired Methodist Minister, I find some time on my hands, and a strong desire to share experiences and develop relationships with others. God is my driving force, and I have humor and joy in my heart.

2 thoughts on “In His Hands

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: