Hands

My brother called the other day his voice cracked with a deep saddness I couldn't carry for him or take away. It happens at times. My spirit crumbles at these notes and I often reflect on them after I've already said all I can say about loving him and God's immeasurable love for us all. My spirit radiates this "please come and make your home in the harbour of Jesus's hands" to him, but I don't know if he notices. I don't know why it is that his suffering and struggles worry me so much when I consider God's in control and will do what he will do whenever he wishes to do it. And along with the worry that my brother's world may come tumbling down again I worry that mine will too through all these afflictions and then there will be nothing left to say. He tells me he needs to learn to love himself and I say I have Jesus for that. Jesus holding me up from the inside out telling me I'm beautiful, though I'm trajically fallen and my faith seems so immeasurably small. I don't know why I feel this nervous wrentching tension at times as if one day I'll break. It's all a terrible lie of course I know this but I have to keep pushing back the lies.I realize why I love the book of John so much. He is the vine I am the branches. I need to be rooted everyday in God. When did the lies ever mean anything to me anyway? I can only surrender all that I am. I do feel his clean, strong, steady hands cradeling my soul whenever I ask for his help. His presence cuts the tension as he tells me one day I will be whole, to never tire of doing good and to keep pressing as if this pain will brandish golden pearls I just can't see yet.