In His hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are also His. The sea is His, for He made it, and His hands formed the dry land. Oh come, let us worship and bow down. Let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker! (Verses 4-6)
I am the Lord your God, Who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar--the Lord of hosts is His name. And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion, "You are my people." Isaiah 51
I remember the first time each of my children took the first independent step. Let go of my proffered finger and triumphantly balanced just enough without me to navigate one foot in front of the other. Then, plop! Back down. Back up. Back down. Back up. Sometimes taking my finger for balance once more, sometimes not. That day wasn't the last time they held my hand, though. There are streets to cross, stairs to climb, malls to navigate and dangers to avoid. I was their safety. I could see things they couldn't. My hand guided them until they could see for themselves. Now we hold hands because we love each other. To feel the assurance of closeness. Thankful to be near.
Every time I walk down to the beach I'm stunned by the ocean's majesty. Its vastness in depth and mass. Volcanic mountains erupt miles beneath the surface. Whales have thousands of miles of space to venture and squid can hide in the murky darkness hundreds of feet down. My toes sink into soft warm (sometimes hot!) sand and a summer sun glows on my skin as gulls circle hoping for a bite of my sandwich. (Not a chance) The ocean air smells of fish and foam. Dolphins roll and tumble on the waves that gently roll onto shore carrying children on boogie boards and teens surfing. Glistening water reflects the bright blue sky as it sparkles at midday. I take a deep breath and think, "My Father made this." Designed it and sustains it. With His hand. How large must He be if He holds the depths of the sea, the mountains and valleys, the whole of creation in His hand? Not hands. What is in the other hand? Come let us worship and bow down, indeed!
What is stunning to me as I think about His hand this morning is that He extends it to me. Fresh from dipping His finger into the depths of the sea or brushing the tops of fir trees in the Alps, my Father offers it to me to grasp--to take hold of for guidance or affection. My Maker stirs the oceans into a frenzy with the same hand He uses to gently shelter me from harm. The hand that turns the earth on its axis leads me down the path of my own life's journey. When the enemy would have me, the hand of my Father shelters and covers me. Evil stopped in its path. God's children are so secure in His palm that Jesus said: My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, Who has given them to Me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father's hand (John 10). How can we not go before such a One with humility and worship? Kiss His hand and bless His name? The Maker of Everything wants my hand in His, wants to watch my path, teach me His ways, bless my life and call me His child. I hold His hand because he deigns, though He's flung stars and dug rivers, to reach out to mine. Making us His people is right up there for Him with the workings of the universe. It's that miraculous! That God Almighty relates to us as family. My Father loves me so much He's engraved me on the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49). How can He then not be engraved on my heart?
I am the Lord your God, Who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar--the Lord of hosts is His name. And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion, "You are my people." Isaiah 51
I remember the first time each of my children took the first independent step. Let go of my proffered finger and triumphantly balanced just enough without me to navigate one foot in front of the other. Then, plop! Back down. Back up. Back down. Back up. Sometimes taking my finger for balance once more, sometimes not. That day wasn't the last time they held my hand, though. There are streets to cross, stairs to climb, malls to navigate and dangers to avoid. I was their safety. I could see things they couldn't. My hand guided them until they could see for themselves. Now we hold hands because we love each other. To feel the assurance of closeness. Thankful to be near.
Every time I walk down to the beach I'm stunned by the ocean's majesty. Its vastness in depth and mass. Volcanic mountains erupt miles beneath the surface. Whales have thousands of miles of space to venture and squid can hide in the murky darkness hundreds of feet down. My toes sink into soft warm (sometimes hot!) sand and a summer sun glows on my skin as gulls circle hoping for a bite of my sandwich. (Not a chance) The ocean air smells of fish and foam. Dolphins roll and tumble on the waves that gently roll onto shore carrying children on boogie boards and teens surfing. Glistening water reflects the bright blue sky as it sparkles at midday. I take a deep breath and think, "My Father made this." Designed it and sustains it. With His hand. How large must He be if He holds the depths of the sea, the mountains and valleys, the whole of creation in His hand? Not hands. What is in the other hand? Come let us worship and bow down, indeed!
What is stunning to me as I think about His hand this morning is that He extends it to me. Fresh from dipping His finger into the depths of the sea or brushing the tops of fir trees in the Alps, my Father offers it to me to grasp--to take hold of for guidance or affection. My Maker stirs the oceans into a frenzy with the same hand He uses to gently shelter me from harm. The hand that turns the earth on its axis leads me down the path of my own life's journey. When the enemy would have me, the hand of my Father shelters and covers me. Evil stopped in its path. God's children are so secure in His palm that Jesus said: My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, Who has given them to Me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father's hand (John 10). How can we not go before such a One with humility and worship? Kiss His hand and bless His name? The Maker of Everything wants my hand in His, wants to watch my path, teach me His ways, bless my life and call me His child. I hold His hand because he deigns, though He's flung stars and dug rivers, to reach out to mine. Making us His people is right up there for Him with the workings of the universe. It's that miraculous! That God Almighty relates to us as family. My Father loves me so much He's engraved me on the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49). How can He then not be engraved on my heart?
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