As a child, I had a sensory memory whose power unfortunately
faded as I grew older. I believed that I remembered feeling the hands of God on
my little body as he created me. They were hands of love, and they made me feel
secure and safe.
I learned, as I grew up, that mine was a difficult birth. My
right arm was raised above my head, so the doctor had to stop everything while he
manipulated my arm into a correct place for the birth: otherwise, my mother
said, there was a risk of my having a withered right arm. Once things were
righted, Dr Dunbar used forceps and hands to get me out. Poor Mom.
I went through a period of mild disappointment, realising
that the sensory memory I treasured was probably a memory of the skilled hands
of Dr Dunbar, rather than the loving hands of God.
No longer am I disappointed, though, as I recognise that
Jesus uses our hands, our voices, our feet, to do his work on earth. They may
have looked like the hands of Dr Dunbar, but his hands were gloved in the
loving hands of Jesus.
When we were ‘expecting’ grandchildren, I cross-stitched a
piece for each baby to come. As I cross-stitched, I prayed and asked for a word
for that baby. I wrote them down and now, most days, I pray them in. Four months
before Greg was born, the Lord declared that ‘the hands that deliver this baby
will not be human, but divine’. His was a difficult birth, too, with possible
ramifications for his life. He is completely healthy, unaffected by the
circumstances. He, too, was delivered by the hands of God.
May I use my body today to do the work Jesus has prepared
for me to do. May my voice speak words of life. May my actions bring relief and
comfort. May my prayers be heard in heaven, and my expectations of miracles be
met.
Before I created you in the womb, God says, I knew you.
Wow.
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