June 9
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. Isaiah 49:16
Tenderly caressing the soft skin of a loved one, leisurely patting the soothing, furry body of a pet, waving goodbye, swishing water to feel its temperature, all are like strumming a melody on the strings of a guitar.
Reverently running fingers over the engraving of a dear one’s name, picking up the Eucharist, clinging to the hand of the dying, hands folded in prayer, like holding midair the bow of a waiting violin before it begins its journey of tugging at heartstrings, these tug at us too.
Furiously pounding nails into waiting, fresh pieces of wood, working on a computer, digging in the earth, raking and shoveling, cleaning, kneading dough; we hammer away, like a lively, emotional piece on the ivory keys of a piano or organ.
Gingerly holding a precious newborn, enfolding a fragile, shivering, fallen baby bird before it’s replaced in the waiting nest, touching little one’s new artwork, picking flowers, like holding the body of a flute and pressing its keys to produce dancing, uplifting, soothing notes, they can only occur when the timing is just right.
Cupping the face of a child as a kiss is placed on a waiting forehead, embracing someone returning home or leaving, repositioning heirloom treasures, clutching a long awaited book, are like holding the smooth, polished surface of a harmonica and moving it just right, so it plays its sad, haunting, yet jaunty tune.
Expertly utilizing tools of any trade or profession – that rhythmic, repetitive motion of our work performed each day – is like the beat of drums heard from a distance, felt to our core and sensed that like a heartbeat, reflects the rhythm of our life.
Heavenly Father, you give us the sense of touch that we may feel the beauty of the world around us as you safely hold us in your palm. May we hear you also in the music of our lives.
Copyright© 2014 Kathleen A. Matson
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. Isaiah 49:16
Tenderly caressing the soft skin of a loved one, leisurely patting the soothing, furry body of a pet, waving goodbye, swishing water to feel its temperature, all are like strumming a melody on the strings of a guitar.
Reverently running fingers over the engraving of a dear one’s name, picking up the Eucharist, clinging to the hand of the dying, hands folded in prayer, like holding midair the bow of a waiting violin before it begins its journey of tugging at heartstrings, these tug at us too.
Furiously pounding nails into waiting, fresh pieces of wood, working on a computer, digging in the earth, raking and shoveling, cleaning, kneading dough; we hammer away, like a lively, emotional piece on the ivory keys of a piano or organ.
Gingerly holding a precious newborn, enfolding a fragile, shivering, fallen baby bird before it’s replaced in the waiting nest, touching little one’s new artwork, picking flowers, like holding the body of a flute and pressing its keys to produce dancing, uplifting, soothing notes, they can only occur when the timing is just right.
Cupping the face of a child as a kiss is placed on a waiting forehead, embracing someone returning home or leaving, repositioning heirloom treasures, clutching a long awaited book, are like holding the smooth, polished surface of a harmonica and moving it just right, so it plays its sad, haunting, yet jaunty tune.
Expertly utilizing tools of any trade or profession – that rhythmic, repetitive motion of our work performed each day – is like the beat of drums heard from a distance, felt to our core and sensed that like a heartbeat, reflects the rhythm of our life.
Heavenly Father, you give us the sense of touch that we may feel the beauty of the world around us as you safely hold us in your palm. May we hear you also in the music of our lives.
Copyright© 2014 Kathleen A. Matson