Every day I pray that I might be God’s hands and feet. Honestly, I don’t know what this entails. I only hope that I see the opportunities as they arise and that I am up to the challenge of meeting them. I have no way of gauging my success rate, only a sense that it is an important commitment.

My life is quiet. This partially circumstantial — working from home, the pandemic, etc. But it’s also because I like a quiet life. Does that significantly limit my opportunities to work for God? Maybe? Probably? I don’t know. God made me as I am. I have to believe that God will find a way to work through me…as long as I am always open to it.

Hands too small for world-building,
too clumsy for carpentry,
endowed with no augury,
no healing touch. Feet that
can barely bear me up most days.
There is no dancing in them,
no grand displacement of earth.
Still I hold surety that somehow,
they will fit the right space,
and like the click of a key in a lock,
doors will open. If what lies beyond
is not for me, I hold no rancor.
Let others step through.
What they find and see
will sustain me.
Here are my hands.
Here are my feet.
I ask only this: Use them.
They are small; so is grace.
Yet grace can hold eternity.