The hands of Jesus (I'll remind myself while Jesus reigns in heaven wrapped in that overwhelming glory) still hold the scars that have remained. They have remained when he met Mary in that non-descript garden as the lowly gardener finding her. He spoke her name while she wept at the sight of the thorns on all the stems of the colorful roses. And the scars remained after Thomas confessed his relentless doubt and then when he finds his faith in the creases of Christ's palms. Faith that bloomed like a flower. They remained when Jesus went into the depths and took the keys that were meant to free us and then when he walked on dusty roads giving his wandering friends wisdom about this Son of God/Man (this unlikey contridiction) they watched contain his extrodinariness on a hewn down cross. Even then The scars never left.
I'm sure that his hands still hold strength and kindness and the complete surrender of all my wanting. I don't walk in step with the rest of the world I'm more aware of this than I'd like to be. Its an out of step life, its a turn left life when everyone says you should turn right. I submerge myself in silence till someone asks the deeper questions. I'm not what the world wants but I am what God desires and that has made all the difference.
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