When going to shake a person’s hand for the first time, I make a quick assessment of how smooth or rough their skin is.
Being on the welcoming door of my church, I shake a lot of hands. And for those who have skin that is not smooth, I am in awe.
I think to myself, ‘How many countless hours of hard work have they under their belt?’ In comparison to my petty little smooth skinned hands who have not seen a days work as hard as theirs.
And yet they are still so faithful in their church attendance, and in their walk with God. By the condition of their hands, I assume that the rest of their body has also received knocks, aches, and pains. But there they are, every Sabbath morning with a smile on their face, a bible in their left arm, and their right hand extended to shake mine.
It makes me think of the hands of Jesus, with the nail scars so deep. Who suffered it all, just so we might be saved. Who endured it all, just so we can reach the promise land. Who bore it all, so that we don’t have to.
He was greatly burdened for us, and yet He still showed up, He still walked with God, and He still is waiting to take us home.
I can imagine when we all get to Heaven, the little children gathering around Him and assessing the holes in His hands. And He will explain to them that this was the result of His great and endless love for us. And how He would do it again in a heartbeat.
I know that we can trust Him because He doesn’t have smooth hands, His rough hands tell the story of redemption. His rough hands, prove to us that we have a God that loves us. His rough hands show us that we can sleep peacefully, because He is the night watchman.
His rough hands is evidence enough, to tell us that we are in good hands.