Calloused Hands
Nearly one month ago Landon and I returned from an eleven day trip to the Middle East. Our experience was truly life-changing. There were dozens and dozens of moments that are worth writing about here, but when I close my eyes this is one that continually comes to the forefront of my thoughts:
Before we left, Landon and I determined we would use this trip to be stretched as much as God wanted: which is how I found myself – a very non-touchy person – agreeing to give hand massages to dozens of refugee women.
At first, the massages were an uncomfortable experience for me, it is a surprisingly intimate act to hold someone else’s hands for an extended period. But I did my best not to show my discomfort as I really wanted these sweet women to have a special moment of rest and pampering.
A few pairs of hands in, I reached across the table to begin massaging someone new, and I felt the most calloused, weathered, skin I had ever touched. Looking up, I peered into the eyes of a woman not much older than myself. I marveled at her strength – for only a person of incredible fortitude could have lived a life resulting in hands this weary. She had warm brown eyes and a welcoming smile as we did our best to introduce ourselves without shared language. Lathering her hands in sweet-smelling pink lotion I determined to love her as fully as I possibly could with every stroke of her gnarled, calloused fingers.
Suddenly I had the most overwhelming wave of spiritual understanding. This was but a small picture of how Christ loves us. Jesus, son of God, washed feet. He knelt and cradled dirty, damaged, rock-torn feet, and gently bathed away every layer of dirt and grime with tender love, humility, and compassion.
I was hit with the absolute privilege I had been given to love these women in this way. God poured out on me the most overwhelming love for each refugee woman in the room. I had the joy of not only pampering this beloved woman, but the gift of silently praying over her with every second I held her precious hands.
That was just one moment in many during our time in the Middle East. There were so many modest moments of simple humanity doused with spiritual covering: watching my son play soccer with refugee children, seeing him break language barriers to take silly selfies with hijab covered teenagers, sharing meals with families that have suffered unbelievable tragedies but who still find joy enough to embrace us with kissed cheeks. God is truly close to the brokenhearted, and it is such a gift to join Him there.