God's hands

Until I was in my twenties, I retained a memory of strong hands on my infant body. I believed they were God’s hands creating me in the womb. Perhaps they were.

At my birth, my arm was wrongly positioned and, had things proceeded, I might have been left with a withered right arm. The doctor skilfully intervened and I wonder if it is the touch of his hands that left that indelible impression on me. Perhaps it was.

Either way, I believe they were God’s hands guiding my formative months, whether directly or through the doctor. 

I thank God that he uses the bodies of humble humans to effect miracles in this world every day. What a privilege – what a responsibility.

May I be so used at every opportunity. That is my fervent desire.