Open Hands

You open your hand and satisfy
the desire of every living thing.
—Psalm 145:16

To describe or even think about God, we rely on our own words and experiences. This means we are limited of course, and yet, what beautiful images we have! And what depth of experiences to draw upon.

The simple image from the psalm verse above—the image of God with open hands, providing for everything that lives and breathes, giving boundlessly to everything that desires—is such an image. I have experienced these outstretched hands. So have you. We’ve seen and touched them. We’ve received the gifts flowing from them, the generosity of God’s open hands.

And we’ve held our own hands open, in imitation of the God we love. We’ve outstretched them to our children, our students, our parishioners, and our coworkers, to friends, family, strangers, and spouses. We’ve kept them open longer than we ever thought we could. We’ve learned from covenants and crosses and stories of prodigal children to give more than was expected, to extend our hands deep into whatever inner stores we’ve kept and share whatever good we can find there. We’ve given till it hurts, and still we’ve kept our hands open.

This is the image I choose this Thanksgiving and Christmas, as these times stretch us and the challenges of the season await us. This is the image I choose—of a God with open hands, endlessly open, boundlessly open. Of me, remembering the times I’ve opened my hands and imitated the God I love. This is the image I choose—to stretch myself, to keep my hands open when I’m tired or disappointed, when what was supposed to be perfect isn’t, when there doesn’t seem to be enough. This is the image I choose—to keep my hands open, to imitate the God I love.

A Short Litany of Open Hands

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to imitate your love.

When there are needs to be met, open my hands.
When there is emptiness to fill, open my hands.
When there is work to be done, open my hands.

When I don’t think I can, open my hands.
When I’m willing but weak, open my hands.
When I’ve given my all, open my hands.

For the love of creation, open my hands.
For the joy of salvation, open my hands.
Without hesitation, open my hands.

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to join in your love.
Amen.

A drawing of open hands by Siobhan Ekeh.

A Prayer When I Feel Pulled in a Thousand Directions

This prayer erupted from within me on a random afternoon. After I wrote it, I recognized it as a prayer that could have been written by many people, saying much the same thing as I have said here. So many of us experience this uncomfortable pulling. Whether it is happening within us or outside of us, the pressure of being pulled in so many directions can make us feel like we are on the verge of falling apart. But something happens when we focus on that “one thing” of the Gospels (Luke 10:42)—the presence, the person of Christ. There is peace in that one thing, enough peace for today.

A Prayer When I Feel Pulled in a Thousand Directions

Lord Jesus,

I feel pulled in a thousand directions today.
I feel it in my mind, making endless decisions.
I feel it in my heart, seeing conflict around me.
I feel it in my hands that don’t know what to do next.
I feel it in my feet, tired of running from place to place.

Jesus, I need peace.
Peace in my mind, heart, hands, and feet.
Peace in my family and world.
Peace in my days, hours, and minutes.
Peace in all the places and people in my life.

I do not need answers.
I do not need an end to the work that awaits me,
the people that need me, or the future you desire for me.
I only need one thing—you.
You and your peace.

 Amen.

A peaceful scene on Pentecost morning in central Minnesota. Photograph by Hans Christoffersen.

My Quiet Day: A Simple Idea for Holy Week

Like many people, I’ve fallen into the habit of sound. To the natural sounds around me, I’ve added all kinds of extra sounds that fill my days. It’s amazing what a phone can do.

But yesterday I had a quiet day. It wasn’t silent, but it was quiet. There were all the sounds that are normal for me and my life—the dishwasher running, the boys playing, Eli at the piano. The wind blew, cars passed, a small plane practiced large circles overhead. People spoke, and I spoke back. But in between the sounds of my ordinary day, I didn’t fill the crevices with headline news, podcasts that would entertain but not change me, or anything else my phone can do. It was amazing how many times I could have—and started to—but didn’t.

Two things felt really good during my quiet day. It felt good to enjoy the natural sounds around me instead of the extras. Even though it wasn’t silent, it still quieted my spirit. It turns out that the birds of spring are so much more interesting—and a million times more soothing—than a news report. No doubt the world still turns; the news will be there tomorrow. It also felt really good to know that I can stop myself from listening to those extra sounds, if I want to. Sometimes we aren’t sure about that—about whether we can stop doing the things we feel compelled to do.

A quiet day was just what I needed, right on the brink of Holy Week. So many people have told me that this year Lent hasn’t felt like Lent—that it seems to have passed before they could even begin to dig in, or celebrate, or commemorate. But we have this one week left. We can still do something simple to prepare for these days of glory.

Why not try a quiet day one day this week? It doesn’t have to be silent. Just don’t fill the extra moments, those little openings that want to be empty. Let your soul rest. It will feel really good, and it might create some sacred space in your heart—or perhaps, more importantly, your mind. These days our minds need rest as much as our hearts—maybe more.

Let’s allow Holy Week to play out—quietly, beautifully. There is still time to dig into these days.

You are all in my prayers!
Amy

Crocuses announce the start of spring during a walk on my quiet day.

The Shape of Prayer

As many of us are doing these days, I’m trying to reach out, to keep the people I love close to me. I recently wrote to my dear friends Epi and Joan. They responded with news both good and bad—the joy of a new grandchild, the pain of a family member lost to COVID.

Joan shared this story with me, and I wanted to pass it on to you. I found it both comforting and thoughtful.

“Last fall, there was a severe wind storm at night. I was up praying and wondering if it was going to turn into a tornado. Then it came to me that at least two neighbors, Ernestine and Lil, were also up and praying. I thought of them as points of prayer—the three of us making a triangle. Then I thought there were surely others praying, changing the triangle into some sort of polygon. This gave me great comfort. Now, as I pray for our nation, I think of you as another prayer point. Let's keep adding and stretching this prayer shape.”

We are all in this together—pandemic, political unrest, hopes and fears for the future. Yes, come what may, we are in this together, stretching this prayer shape, finding in prayer the strength to act and the discernment to know how to act; finding in prayer the perseverance to carry on, the wisdom to do right, and the softened hearts to love one another.

And may our prayers lead to peace—in our consciences, our homes, our nation, and our world.

An intricate web holds the shape of prayer. Photo by Mary Weems.

A Prayer when Putting on a Mask

The ideas within this prayer are simple. Even if you don’t remember the prayer, you may remember the gist of it and say something similar as you put your mask on to go out into the world. Praying for all of you during this time!

A Prayer when Putting on a Mask

Loving God,
   I wear this mask to protect others.
   I offer you any discomfort it may bring me.
   I pray for those who are ill today.
   While my face is covered,
   may my eyes look upon the world with your love. 
Amen.

Masks with Eli.