Here I am at the day's conclusion, watching the moon begin its cabaret song as the sun bows from the stage... and I am watching my hands as they type while I also reflect on the day.
These hands today have held an incredible kitchen knife and thrilled at the ease with which it dispatched a pile of chicken breasts destined to be skewered and barbecued for a fund-raiser. I confess that a small part of the joy of volunteering was knowing that it was likely that I would get to feel the keen functionality of a finely cared for tool. It does what it does well and confidently, with purpose, deftness, and sensitivity. It was quite pleasing to work with it.
Today, these hands have given in to a desire that often comes to me when proclaiming the Word at liturgy...the desire to touch the text as I let it fill me and then offer it in voice. This is a holy touch. My fingers reverence the printed word as it rests on the page and I ask that if it be the will of God, I would like to take it within and proclaim it well, to breathe it so deeply that it might be be heard, seen, felt, and shared with others.
In the last several days, these hands have reached for the hand of a friend thousands of miles away and as near as both the beat of my heart and the glow of the computer screen.
With each touch there is an exchange...the hand respects the tool, the tool works for the hand; touch honors the Word, Word fills the senses; the touch of the heart is not daunted by distance, distance graciously contracts.
Such a sensitive and extraordinary gift...
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