“I’m not lifting my hands,” I’d told my friends. “Unless God flings them up.”
This hand-raising in worship seemed an ostentatious thing. Too big, too ostentatious for this girl who’d learned to become invisible behind books on school buses, invisible to bullies – and probably to friendship-making, too.
Yet, I’d read and studied this thing, this hand-raising in worship thing. A part of me wanted to – to have that kind of trust – to come out from behind the book but the grade-school girl hiding couldn’t do it.
Until one Sunday, my palms burned. I stood, terrified but so wanting to give all I had to this Father who loved me so much.
And in the giving up of my hands, they became holy.
In the giving up of my hands, I learned to give Him
~the challenges, like the one that dropped me to my knees on the floor of my closet.
In the giving up of my hands, I learned to find Him
~in places like blueberry patches, grocery-store aisles and window views
In the giving up of my hands, He freed me a self-imposed bondage of isolation
~and He walked with me under the autumn grey skies and laughed with me
~and He stood with me under the portico as I watched the rain pour and thunder rumble when I’d pulled myself away from my work-desk to meet Him there.
In the giving up of my hands I learned to do something beautiful for God and became more beautiful for doing it.
Worship: Adoring; paying divine honors to; treating with supreme reverence; treating with extreme submission.
~Noah Webster 1828 Dictionary
Submission is a tough word in 21st Century living – yet the Father’s submission says, “Give it to me. Let me take care of it. I can help you. Trust me.”
In the giving up, in the trusting, I give it all to Him.
If I am to do the following:
“Write these commandments that I’ve given you today on your hearts. Get them inside of you and then get them inside your children. Talk about them wherever you are, sitting at home or walking in the street; talk about them from the time you get up in the morning to when you fall into bed at night. Tie them on your hands and foreheads as a reminder; inscribe them on the doorposts of your homes and on your city gates” (Deuteronomy 6:7-9)
If I am to do all that, would I not develop a heart for constant worship, a constant communion with the Father, a constant giving each moment to Him?
For me, my life changed that day I raised my hands in worship – and they became Holy. It wasn’t just a giving of the hands. The hands symbolized fear. It was a beginning. Today that giving-kind of worship seed has grown, until today, I give Him the trail to the waterfalls, the chocolate ganache cupcakes, the 9 to 5 and the 5 to 9.
I lift up the good and the bad of the inside and outside of me.
I don’t always do it well but by learning to live worship, the daily becomes more beautiful.
“. . .raising holy hands to God. And I want women to get in there with the men in humility before God, not primping before a mirror or chasing the latest fashions but doing something beautiful for God and becoming beautiful doing it” (1 Timothy 2: 8-10)