Your Hands Reveal Your Heart

They move across the piano keys, sometimes swiftly, sometimes stumbling. They knead the bread dough, rinse the carrots, chop the chicken. They type on the computer keyboard and jot notes in my planner. They hold my husband's hands, hug my boys, wash little baby toes. They move the pencil to form pictures, hold the broom to clean the floor, fold the shirts out of the dryer. They answer the phone, move the iced coffee to my mouth, and open the door. 

My hands are probably the part of my body I am most aware of throughout the day. They do so much. They show love to others, care for my family, and express creativity. They are the outlet for my brain.

The work they do reveals my heart. 

They aren't a model's hands; no one will ever ask to photograph my hands to advertise jewelry. I used to be embarrassed that my hands were so big but now I'm just thankful. Big hands can spread more than an octave on the piano, set a volleyball with better contact, and hold far more little cars than small hands could. 

This mindset is gradually carrying over to more than just my hands. I'm learning to see things (including myself) for how they work and bless others instead of how they look.  

To be less superficial in my views. 
Less obsessive about appearance.
Less concerned with the outside and more preoccupied with the heart. 

My hands are working hands. When I'm eighty I hope they are hands that have served strangers, painted pictures that have cheered homes, written words that pointed others to Jesus, changed diapers for countless baby bottoms and lightened the load for young mothers. I hope they have helped others up, filled bellies with food, played the piano, and managed money with a balanced heart. 

I am doing that work today because today makes up a piece of the future.  I am typing the words. I am cooking the food, changing the diapers, turning the pages of the story, cutting the grapes, pulling the weeds. I am pushing the keys, drawing the pictures, wiping the counter. This home is at present my primary serving place. I want to do my work here well because to do otherwise would reveal a cold heart toward this mission field.

What are your hands doing? What work are you performing? If you examine your work you will find your heart. 

Christ has no hands but our hands to do His work today, He has no feet but our feet to lead men in the way, He has no tongue but our tongue to tell men how He died, He has no help but our help to bring them to His side.     Annie Johnston Flint