YOUR HANDS ARE HISTORY BOOKS

As legend tells it, many years ago in a certain church, on a very particular day, all the people were asked to bring great gifts to lay upon the altar. All had been told that the greatest gift would cause a miracle. That at that moment a heavenly choir would burst forth with song. And so they came, bringing boxes of gold, silver, jewels, and spices. All kind of wealth. A long line of hope and yet nothing happened. Silence. Unrelenting silence.

Then, slowly there came walking down the aisle a peasant girl. Her tattered clothes hung loose. Her pale fingers almost luminescent as she moved toward the towering piles of magnificent offerings. Kneeling, she reached forward and put down…. her hands. . . and left them there. For a long time she moved them not, offering them to God. They were all she had, and she gave them. Then softly, at first no louder than a whisper, came the sound of a celestial chorus, building to a crescendo. The very walls reverberated with angel voices of acclamation. For yes, her gift was the greatest, the most wondrous; the gift of self.

Someone once wrote, “God takes a hand wherever He can find it. Here, the hand of a mother to guide her child; there, the hand of a neighbor to be a friend. The hands of those who believe.”

Why such emphasis on service? Because service is the rent we pay for the space we occupy.

“Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” Phillipians 2:4

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