It’s Out Of Your Hands
“It’s out of my hands!” I thought to myself. There’s nothing more I can do.” It seems so final, so absolute. I heard those words once spoken when I was fired from a job I loved. The look on my face begged for an explanation. “Why?” I asked. “Can’t you do something about it?” “It’s out of my hands,” he said. I heard those words spoken when my mother was dying from cancer. I was just 21 years old, still young enough to believe that doctors heal and mothers can make boo-boos better with a kiss. “It’s out of my hands,” he said. With that, we knew it was over. Hands that I shook when I accepted a job suddenly couldn’t hold me there. Hands that I depended on to bandage a wound, gently inject an antibiotic, sign an excuse to miss school, and couldn’t make my mother well. Hands that nurtured, wiped away tears, caressed my face, guided me across the street and welcomed me home, would no longer be there. Today I spoke to a friend about a project I worked on, a dream I’ve held in my heart for years now and how much it would mean in my life at this time if it worked out. He said, “You’ve done all that you could, Bob.” He
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