By His Hands...

Some days just don't go the way you plan.

The last couple of days have been pretty good. The weather was nice, my little girl was healthy and happy and somehow less demanding than normal and all was well in my world, for the most part. Today was a different story.

I had errands to run, so I took my nearly 19-month old with me, as I have the last couple of days. I had a few quick stops to make, the weather was great again and everything should have been fairly easy...but it wasn't. Emily apparently had decided that the last two "good" days were enough for mom. She is well-versed in the art of throwing temper tantrums and has honed her skills so that she knows when to throw them so that it will be most embarassing and least helpful to mom. And she did this is at least once in every store we visited. Fun stuff.

At my last stop, I wandered down the gardening aisles and happened upon a little bird bath. The design is one I have seen in years past and always liked. There are two hands (symbolizing God's hands) cupped together with a bird perched on the wrist, drinking the water the hands hold. The inscription on this garden statue says, "By His hands, we all are fed". (Hmmm...maybe it's supposed to be a bird feeder?....I can't make up my mind.)

Anyhow, I decided to buy the statue because I like it and because I thought that my two cats and Emily might like watching the birds use it. I gathered the rest of my purchases (bird seed, cat food and diapers), all the while fighting to keep Emily seated in the cart. By the time we reached the check out lane, Emily was howling, huge tears running down her face, I was exhausted and we were both in need of a nap. I tossed everything in the van and drove home.

Once home, I opened the passenger side door and out onto the concrete garage floor, tumbled the bag with the bird bath. It wasn't a pretty sound. Meanwhile, Emily had fallen asleep in the car seat which is a sure sign that she will boycott her normal 2 hour afternoon nap, even if she has only been asleep for 5 minutes. Oh joy!

So, I grin and bear the fact that Emily is not going to be any fun for the next 5 hours or so (is it 8:30 pm yet?), and decide to call my mom to see how her day has been. I get my dad. He talks to me for a few minutes, tells me mom isn't there and that she received word today that the Christian school for which she has worked (for a pittance) the last 20 years is not renewing her contract. She has worked there longer than anyone else, is a wonderful teacher (she taught me quite well) and has dedicated her life to doing God's work for next to nothing, yet because of church politics and a corrupt preacher/school board issue, she (and quite a few other good teachers) will now have to search for a job. I'm angry for her and sad all at the same time.

It's not been a good day.

Upon further inspection, the birdbath is broken. Oh, I suppose it might still work (though I won't use it in it's current condition), but there is a hole in the side of it and most depressing of all, the pinky finger on God's hand is broken off. That's the kind of day it has been.

I know this is a part of life. In comparison to my mom and dad, my day has been a piece of cake. All I had to deal with is a cranky toddler and a broken bird bath. They should be retired or close to it, and yet they are facing complete uncertainty. On days like these, it feels like God's hands must be broken. Something isn't right. This shouldn't be happening to good people. But I know that's not true.

God's hands are just fine, perfectly capable of lifting us up when we need Him, more than capable to hold us close and comfort us, always feeding us just what we need. He knows what we need, how to supply it and just when to give it. His hands aren't broken. It is us who are broken and He heals us daily.

Maybe I'll keep that bird bath after all. Maybe it's just what I needed today.