Inspired by a lesson from our week’s Bible study, we all took Sharpies and wrote in our palms:

The Lord’s.

To say I need the reminder is an understatement. You’d think I had other things scribbled there in the middle of my hand, however invisibly—The Bank’s, The House’s, The Children’s, The Husband’s, The Worry’s, Mine. And they don’t easily fade from red to pink like those six letters. They seem indelibly etched into my heart and mind, these cares of the world. They carry serious weight.

Sure, some look like holy pursuits. Take my family. God gave me Hubby and the little people, so isn’t it okay to lose sleep, time, and even myself in them? Teaching them, raising them, loving them—they’re each a full-time job. Yet my palm attests, “For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13) They’re not mine, for we are all His. It’s fruitless and prideful to focus on my limitations as a mother and wife in the face of His unlimited love and power. I should seek His plans for their life.

Then there’s my writing, what I see as my ministry. Shouldn’t I give it my all—well, all that’s left, mind you—by pursuing publication, encouraging others, spreading His Word? Yet, the letters on my hand tell me, “For there is not a word on my tongue, But behold, O Lord, You know it altogether.” (Psalm 139:4) This is His gift. I am His instrument. Worrying won’t get an agent’s attention; fasting and prayer will get His. God knows it all and gives me my all and all. All I can do is write it, read it, and run with it. (Habakkuk 2:2)

And oh, my body…a girl’s gotta sleep, eat, and watch This Is Us, right? Yes, He does give His beloved sleep, but what good does it do me to hide my head under my pillow? TD will find me anyway, and so will my worries. God gives me true rest if I abide in Him and remember I am The Lord’s, the two small words that remind me, “How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand; When I awake, I am still with You.”

God-given pursuits, all. We need to work, we’re designed to love, we want to succeed. These very human needs, flaws, desires, and missions claim our attention, however divided, yet they don’t call us by name—and no, “Mama” doesn’t count. When I trace these letters in my hand they whisper, “Seek the good part, Robin.” (Luke 10:41, 42) They tell me, “I died for you. Don’t kill yourself trying to keep the train a-movin’.” His name spells “I paid the price of ownership”—not just on my hand but in my heart.

What do you have written in the palm of your hand, in between all the lines where only God can see? More important, do you know He has your name written in blood in both of His?

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me, and know my anxieties; And see if there is any wicked way in me, And lead me in the way everlasting.” Psalm 139:23, 24


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