Uncle.

This is a picture that my friend Haley took of my hands. She’s a genius with a lens. Anyways, for a long time I’ve thought that this picture tells a story. And even though I know exactly what was going on when this picture was taken, I felt like this picture tells some bigger grander story. Like it tells the truth. But I couldn’t find it.

Tonight, I found it.

Tonight, I feel very dirty. In light of the purity of the holy One, I find myself shamefully unclean. Not only the dead in my transgressions bit of me, because, hallelujah, I am raised to walk in newness of life.

The newness of life bit of me is the dirty part.

I am supposed to be freed from futility. And yet in my striving, and sometimes in my not-so-striving to become worthy of the One, I fail.

I fail, I fall, and my hands get dirty.

Tonight, I just looked at this picture for a minute, and I saw it.

My hands are dirty. Hopelessly.

They reach out, trying to grasp, well, anything.

They are weak.

But on my finger, my Jesus has placed the sparkling and pure beauty of his love.

And though my hands get dirty, his love remains. Clean enough for my hands.