His Other Hand

The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


This phrase has been swirling around in my mind and heart since I posted yesterday.
It hasn't set well with my spirit.


The Lord's hand did not move to answer my cry.


I've been asking the Lord why this phrase doesn't feel right.
It was definitely how I perceived His activity during that season of my life.
Why isn't this phrase resting peacefully as such?


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The truth is, I know better now.


Last night, as I was sitting with Him and that phrase, I had a picture pop into my mind. It was a picture of what I call His "hold right there" hand. (Very similar to the hand I put up when my kids see that I am on the phone and begin to clamor for sharpened pencils, a new toy, and the definition of the word "antidisestablishmentarianism" -- only His eyes weren't bugged out and His face was not flexed in perturbation.)




I could see His hold-right-there hand gently tarrying in front of my anxious and desperate heart. I was crying out to Him, but I heard no answer. I saw no movement of the hand. And that was all I could see. The hand. Not moving.


But in the picture that popped into my head, I saw His other hand, too. THIS hand was a blur of movement. It was working so quickly that I could not follow it with my eyes.


I looked back to the other hand. The stationary hand. The hand of waiting.


Ugh. Waiting.


That was the only hand I could see in my pain and disappointment and frustration.


I could only see the hand that was NOT moving. I was fixated on that hand. The one that wasn't doing things my way. The one that wasn't moving fast enough. The one that wasn't answering the prayers I wanted to have answered.


But what I didn't see through the haze of my disillusionment was the hand that was moving. There was His other hand -- opposite the hold-right-there hand -- that was working swiftly to bring beauty from ashes, to bring healing from pain, to bring life from death. That hand was moving.


I just couldn't see it.


I couldn't see because I couldn't get past the fact that He was allowing such a great amount of pain.


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Lord, give me eyes to see both of your hands.
Give me a heart that can trust that while one hand is still, the other is working in ways I cannot see.
Remind me You are good, despite how I feel.