Lifting Praising Hands by Ruth Smith Meyer

As I drove to the Lake Huron shore to join my family for our annual trek down memory lane and a time of thanksgiving for ongoing blessings, my heart echoed the psalmist’s words, “I thirst for you as parched land thirsts for rain.”

My hubby and I have had a few difficult months when our usual routines were totally disrupted, our days filled with new challenges and foreign confrontations. Even our time for quiet contemplation on God’s Word was at a bare minimum. My energy to meet a different way of life and adapt to a new normal was at low ebb. The knowledge that I held in my heart, the surety that God would see me through, had not seeped into the far reaches of my brain.  That orifice was still searching the files of past experiences trying to come up with a solution of its own.

 As I drove, a few splashes of brilliance in the autumn landscape brought brief pleasure before I once more mulled over the changes in our lives. I wondered how my writing life would fit into the new scheme of things or if it would be pushed aside. I hated to think that would happen, for writing has become a satisfying part of who I am and brings me sustenance as well as joy. It brings me delight to serve my husband and care for him, but my aging body is no longer capable of doing all I used to do.

My attention was again, drawn to the scarlet, orange and yellow maples. The changing colour of the leaves is thrilling in their beauty, but that same colour signals the end of this year’s foliage.  It’s the autumn of my life too.  How can I make this time of life bring joy to myself and others as I cling to the branches and yet acknowledge I must also learn to let go? How is that going to change the landscape of my life? The thoughts kept churning through my mind.

Up ahead, against the blue, blue autumn skies with their purple lined clouds I espied a few of the much maligned wind turbines. (In spite of what others think about those towers, my heart as usual lifted at the sight of them. I love their grace and silent movement.) 

 

Suddenly I almost saw Psalm 134:2 visibly written on them. “Lift your hands in prayer toward his holy place and praise the Lord.”  Those long blades were turning at the merest whisper of winds--winds of which I had been totally unaware in the hurried racing of my mind. But their blades turned because they were lifted toward the sky, ready and willing to move in the breeze.

 

 It’s as though God was whispering to me, “When you’re in need of power, my child, lift your hands toward me, too. You’ll see that although you thought you were alone; that nothing was moving positively; that you were at the end of your strength; if you lift your hands toward me, things will change. You, too, will notice the winds of the Spirit moving the circumstances of your life. You will see the work I can do in and through you. But you need to raise your hands toward me.”

 

Those thoughts lingered with me throughout the weekend and speak to me still. In the celebration of Thanksgiving, can I move toward lifting my hands to praise God and let him do the turning?

 

Psalm 134 does indeed urge me to lift my praising hands to the Holy Place and bless God.  In turn the God who made heaven and earth will bless me.  What more could I need?

Ruth  invites you to join her at www.ruthsmithmeyer.  You may also be interested in reading her latest book, the story of her life, Out of the Ordinary.