The girls sat with covered eyes and open hands, listening to events and interactions of mortal beings with the Son of God.
Into their hands, we passed tangible evidence of those interactions.
Straw to represent His mother’s first moments caring for her newborn son.
A tassel at the hem of a garment, touched in desperate need and hope for healing.
A wet cloth wiping away the grime of days spent at camp, hearkening to a similar washing of His disciples’ feet.
And a nail, meant to hold up a body on a cross-an interaction with unbelievers carrying out a sentence brought about by those who should have believed.
Those open hands were significant.
Ready to receive.
Humble submission without knowing what was coming.
A willingness to experience and witness what it might feel like to have an interaction with Christ.
I wonder what I would use to represent my interactions with Him?
What would I pass to wiling, open hands as witness of His presence, His grace and His power in my life?
A piece of music which taught me of Him and brought me comfort in a vulnerable time.
A flower as evidence of His design and creative power in my life.
A football ticket to remind me of a miracle I prayed would come.
A hospital gown to represent time spent when He spoke to me and gave me visions of His care.
Certainly words. Many of them on pages and in my heart that speak of His truths.
A picture of people who have exemplified His love and have taught me to love like Him.
Sounds and feelings and thoughts and impressions that are difficult to make tangible.
Evidence in my own life that He is there, healing, blessing, guiding and teaching.
Interactions with a living God, every bit as powerful as those when He lived on the earth.
If my eyes and hands are open to receive.
