Serendipity Words

Many of us are more similar than we want to even realize. I wish I was kidding when I say it. But I want you to take a second and look down at your hands. They catch a lot of things. A drink falling off the counter. They catch the kids running to you with their arms wide open. They hold more than anyone could imagine. Our hopes, fear, and dreams all have been within those hands. The tears you cry while grieving. The screams that occur when we sit on the edge of breaking point. Our heads, when we feel we can’t take it anymore, and everything seems to crash and burn around us. They alone hold our stories. Some of them are more worn than others. Some have more scrapes, cuts, and scars that fill our sight when looking at them. More often than not, you can look down and see the life you expected to have in them compared to our reality. We see the things that we used to hold in them. We see the changes that we expected to be slow and life-changing, yet here they are now. However, do you know what the person next to you held in their hands? A first and a last of what is to come?

Would you believe me if I told you that those same hands that held the story of how your life changed can be the start of changing someone else? Would you believe that the person across the room from you at work caught tears very similar to yours but did not want to lay that issue into someone else’s heart? Would you believe me if I said that those scars that tell the stories can be the saving grace of someone on the verge of breaking into a million pieces?

See, I’ve never thought about anything like this until one day, I was listening to a sermon led by one of my favorite people. She spoke on how the scars shown by Jesus provided hope. He was not afraid to be raw. To show his spots to everyone and even talk about them. Yes, the same Jesus that was nailed to the cross and had scars on his hands and feet from the nails. However, I sat there listening, realizing all my scars were covered. I didn’t want to talk about the stories associated with them often. They bring back memories of pain and or trials that I went through to get that scar. Why would I ever want to relieve that? What good would that do for anyone? Then I looked down at my hands and thought about the stories they hold. The hands they’ve shaken. The hugs they gave. The high fives they get when you complete something. These hands hold more than anyone will realize. But as I was sitting there thinking about the physical, I realized that our minds and hearts are also hands. I know that sounds absolutely insane so let me explain.

Our minds and heart hold the unseen scars we hide from view. The ones that can’t be seen through our skin. These are the deepest of them all. They have the times we thought the world was over, and we were not about to make it another day. They are the ones that hold our worth, our heartbreak, our trust, and our trials. They are the scars that make us who we are. So when you see the physical scars, you’re naturally inclined to ask what happened for you to get that. Why can’t we ask the same question when someone winces at the sound of a name or place? Why can’t we ask what scar helped you overcome that mountain? They are our hands and feet when we feel nailed down. They provide the same hope and freshness with each event.

Sometimes they come in a little rougher than they should, but they are still needed to tell the story. They are still wanted to help hold something that feels broken. Our words, our stories, our hurts, our fears, our rebound, our redemption. But the question is, are you too focused on yourself and your scars to reach out to someone who is bleeding through theirs? Someone that is screaming to be heard through theirs? What if the story behind your scars, your roughness, your hands is what sparks the change?

Would you reach your hand out?