In His Hand

A few weeks ago, as I was in that season of waiting to learn whether cancer had spread once again through my body, I had the simplest, most beautiful realization.

I’d been thinking a lot about how when rest in Him, we’re cradled in His hands. There’s such comfort in that, right? Such peace. Perhaps, if you’re a visual thinker, you imagine a parent cradling a newborn baby. Or perhaps even an artistic image of you as you are right now, full grown, cradled in an immense palm capable of supporting the whole earth.

Before, whenever I’ve considered the phrase “in His hand,” that image of rest is what I focused on. That the Lord’s palm is a place for respite. A place of refuge. I’ve also frequently thought of Him raising the other up around me to shield, to guard, to protect.

There is, I think, a deep spiritual truth to those metaphors. We do rest in Him. He is our shield, our protector, our salvation.

But as I shared my health updates and began answering the hundreds upon hundreds of emails and comments (each one a blessing—thank you!), as others opened up about their own struggles, I felt that stirring deep in my chest. The same one I noticed last year, when this same thing happened. I remember thinking, back in spring of 2024, that this was a blessing I’d never considered—that when I am open and vulnerable about my health struggles, it invites you to be open and vulnerable with me in turn about yours. And I then have the privilege of praying for and with you, of writing down your name. Of knowing I am not alone and getting to assure you that you are not alone either.

It didn’t take long for that same realization to wash over me this time, with the brain tumor looming. But as I was reflecting on all the unexpected blessings of those weeks of not-knowing, of waiting, of facing down fears once again, I was first thinking, “Thank you, Lord, for holding me in Your hand.” And then, when I considered this gift He’d given me of getting to reassure others of His love and provision, it hit me.

When we are in His hand, safe and secure, we are not just resting. Not JUST resting. We are working too, for His glory. We are being used. We are, as I’ve always prayed I would be, a tool in His hand.

In our modern lingo, being “a tool” isn’t usually a compliment, LOL. But let’s actually take a look at why we use it that (yes, I just went and looked up the etymology—I am me, after all. 😆)  By the 1660s, if one person was using another as a means to an end or for their own purpose, without care for that person, said person was called a tool of the other. So by 1700, calling someone “a tool” meant that they were useless or shiftless—which is to say, they had no self-directed purpose, so could only be used by others.

Not a great character trait in human terms, no. But it takes on whole new meaning, doesn’t it, when we consider the Master’s hands? Those hands created everything that has been created. Those hands fashioned our world. Those hands shaped mankind, preparing our form for the Breath of Life. Those hands were born into this world as a baby. Those hands hugged His mother, His earthly father. Those hands learned how to shape wood as humanity had to do it, how to lift and help and soothe.

Those hands lifted in blessing, and when the bread was broken, it multiplied instead of dividing. Those hands commissioned apostles who could go and do His work. Those hands touched the sick, and sickness fled. Those hands raised the dead. Those hands calmed the storm. Those hands accepted nails through them, so that He could offer us life eternal.

To be a tool in those hands is no insult. To be a tool in those hands is to receive the gift of co-creating with Him. 

When we are tools in His hand, He uses us to shape the world, to shape each other. He uses us to embrace those who need comfort. He uses us to build, to lift up, to soothe.

He uses us to multiply His love instead of divide. He uses us to spread His gospel and share His gift of salvation. He uses us to heal. Us to bring life. Us to calm the storms around us.

He uses us, in our suffering. He invites us to give it to Him, to join it to His. Because His suffering changed the world, friends, and keeps on changing it. So when we give ours to Him, when we put ourselves into His hands, when we say, “Take it. Take all of it. Take all of me,” we aren’t just saying, “Keep me and protect me and shelter me while I rest.” Not just that.

We’re also saying, “Use me, Father. Use me as a chisel, to chip away what doesn’t belong. Use me as a lathe, to smooth and soothe. Use me as a hammer, to drive home the Truth of your love and secure that truth in the hearts who need to hear it. Use me as a square to help others align with you. Use me…use me. Even now, when I ache, use me. Even now, when I am uncertain, use me. Even now, when all I want to do is fasten my eyes on you, use me to show others where to look too.”

I have seen others, shining His light in their darkest moments—I’m sure you have too. And I will never look at them the same again. Because now, whenever I see our own human weakness, I will see His strength anew. Now, whenever I hear human lips say, “I can’t,” I’ll think, “You don’t have to do. You just have to be. Be in His hand, and He will use you.”

Because ours is not a God of not-doing. He is not a God of laziness. His Creation is ongoing. His making is eternal. His love is an active, consuming, multiplying thing. By His nature, “I Am” is not just a statement of being but of action. He is the God of Abraham, who called him forth from among the nations. He is the God of Jacob, who led them out of slavery and into the Promise. He is Christ, the Son of God, who came to earth to save us.

And He always, always uses us in that plan. He always uses men and women to accomplish His will. We are His tools. And it is no insult.

It is the most amazing thing in the world. To know that, in His hands, we always have purpose. We can trust that even when we’re curled up in His palm, desperate for rest, we are not useless. He is still using us. Even when we can’t see how, we can trust that He is at work.

We can rest in Him…but He is never at rest. He is always moving. And, praise God for His goodness, He carries us with Him as He goes, as He works.

And perhaps, really, that is true rest—knowing that we can always have purpose in Him, even when all we can do is say, “Take me. Hold me. I am yours.”