Open Hands
A funny word, I thought when I first read it.
Not just a funny word for a topic for contemplative prayer, but a funny word just on its own.
Period.
Full stop.
Wrestle?
Of course, all I could think of was the very common use of it these days—and very common indeed in terms of the quality of life—the term, mud wrestling.
So, I am sitting in contemplative prayer and wondering what in Heaven’s name does mud wrestling—or even high-school varsity wrestling—have to do with anything.
Wrestle, though.
Not wrestling.
To wrestle.
Not the sport, or the spirit-like thing.
To wrestle.
To wrestle with an angel.
To wrestle with your partner in life.
To wrestle with open hands.
That was all I could see: open hands.
Meeting another pair of open hands.
Pressed together.
No pinning or being pinned.
No bones broken.
No bruises.
No strained muscles.
Just open hands meeting open hands.
Perhaps I have to wrestle with myself just to get my hands open in the first place.
And to press them against another’s.
Perhaps wrestling, to me—or to anyone for that matter—is akin to surrender. Or a subset of surrender.
God says, Yes, to something that I say, No, to.
Faith.
The key to surrender is faith.
Perhaps when we have faith—exercise our faith—we are wrestling.
Wrestling with ourselves, and, ultimately, with God.
I have to do this?
Why exactly?
And the open hands meet.
And know.