More than just a carpenter's hands

Maybe he could help us, thinks the grieving father. And so he wastes no time and seeks him out. With the rest of the curious, here I am waiting outside the ruler’s house. A commotion ensues; he’s arrived. I hear him tell the noisy crowd, “The girl is not dead but asleep.” They answer his claim with laughter. Unperturbed by their disbelief, he goes to the lass who lays lifeless. He takes her by the hand and she gets up. His hand becomes the channel through which warmth flowed once more to her cold body.

I follow him through the dusty roads of Galilee. But I am not alone. A crowd swells for many long to hear him speak. I watch from a distance as he stops and delivers a sermon and shares a few parables. The people in rapt attention don’t realize they’ve been listening to him for hours until their rumbling stomachs signal them this. Ask them to go home, someone from his group suggests. He disagrees, afraid that the people might faint when sent away hungry. “Sit down on the ground,” he asks the multitude. Taking the bread and the fish, he thanks God for the food and breaks them into pieces. Piece by piece, he distributes sustenance. The few pieces of bread and fish, made to fill the thousands. How could it be? But how could it not be when he held them in his hands?

What’s so special about this carpenter’s hands? How could his hands, dark and calloused, carry so much power? Aren’t these the same hands that lifted planks and chiseled wood? And then I remembered. These are no ordinary hands—for these are the hands of the Miracle Worker. Hands that, when raised, can hush the violent winds at sea. Hands that, upon touching a blind man’s eyes, can restore sight. Truly, there was nothing ordinary about his hands.

And now, I wonder: Could these same hands wipe away the tears from the hurting one’s eyes? Could these same hands put back together the pieces of a broken heart? Could these same hands lift the body sagging in sorrow?

I stop my wondering and fold my own hands in prayer: Prayer to Him, who is the Miracle Worker and not just a carpenter. And prayer for the one whose spirit needs mending and whose soul needs healing. And afterwhich, I will unfold my hands, believing that there's nothing that He, with the powerful and nail-scarred hands, can't do.