With Open Hands

A good reminder to live with open hands.

Sara B. Stacy

I felt ridiculous. Sitting hands upturned, arms stretched out, as I sat in the quiet of my own home. The whispers of, “You don’t have time for this. You are already running late. Seriously, if anyone saw you they’d think you were looney.”

And yet I sat. In the stillness, just as I do now with only the hum from the kitchen, and my thoughts.

I bowed with open hands, turned up to God. A reverent heart asking, pleading, begging. A heart realizing that these hands hadn’t been open before. In fact they had been clenched in anger, gripping tightly the regrets and wishes, the plans and heartaches. They were balled tight to hold in the dreams and keep out the ones wishing to snatch them from my grasp.

I had grown used to the ache of the clinched fist, of grasping too tightly at my life…a life that…

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