Hands …

I returned yesterday from a conference geared towards childrens pastors and the people who work in our churches with our youngest disciples. I learned a few new methods for communicating the gospel to our children, tweeners and youth. I learned just how dedicated most of these gifted people are. I also learned just how cRAzY they have to be to continue their work for so many years. 😉

During my time away I was also able to spend time in worship and reflection and prayer. As I process and discern those thoughts and begin to understand what God is saying to me, I’ll share more on that later.

For now, let me share a story I found several years ago.


At first it sounded like a thanksgiving story, but the more I reflected on it, the more appropriate it seemed for any time of the year. The way I heard it, the story went like this: Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment — to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful. Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of her student’s art. And they were. But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. He was the teacher’s true child of misery, frail and unhappy.

As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes. Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand. His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went — until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas’ desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was. The little boy looked away and murmured, “It’s yours, teacher.” She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, “Take my hand, Douglas, we’ll go outside.” Or, “Let me how you how to hold your pencil.” Or, “Let’s do this together.”

Douglas was most thankful for his teacher’s hand. Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness.  It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much it means to the Douglas’s of the world. They might not always say thanks. But they’ll remember the hand that reaches out.

By Steve Goodier © 2001 (reprinted)

What can I possibly add to this story? How about, “thank you”, to all of the men and women of God who love the little children, the tweeners, the youth and their families. Thank you for being the hand of God to each of us!

“As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified.” ~ John 17:18-19


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