December 7

Strengthened hands

“O God, strengthen my hands” (Neh. 6:9).
“And he touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose, and ministered unto them” (Matt. 8:15).

One morning on waking, a woman charged with the care of a home began thinking of the day’s simple duties. And as she thought they seemed to magnify and pile up. There was her little daughter to get off to school with her luncheon. Some of the church ladies were coming that morning for a society meeting, and she had been planning a dainty luncheon for them. The maid in the kitchen was not exactly ideal—yet. And as she thought into the day her head began aching.


After breakfast, as her husband was leaving for the day’s business, he took her hand and kissed her good-bye. “Why,” he said, “my dear, your hand is feverish. I’m afraid you’ve been doing too much. Better just take a day off.” And he was gone. And she said to herself, “A day off! The idea! Just like a man to think that I could take a day off.” But she had been making a habit of getting a little time for reading and prayer after breakfast. . . .
Now she slipped to her room and, sitting down quietly, turned to the chapter in her regular place of reading. It was the eighth of Matthew. As she read she came to the words, “And he touched her hand, and the fever left her; and she arose, and ministered unto them.” And she knelt and breathed out the soft prayer for a touch of the Master’s hand upon her own. And it came as she remained there for a few moments. And then with much quieter spirit she went on into the day.
The luncheon for the church ladies was not quite so elaborate as she had planned. There came to her an impulse to tell her morning’s experience. She shrank from doing it. It seemed a sacred thing. They might not understand. But the impulse remained, and she obeyed it, and quietly told them. And as they listened there seemed to come a touch of the Spirit’s presence upon them all. And so the day was a blessed one. Its close found her husband back again. And as he greeted her he said quietly, “My dear, you did as I said, didn’t you? The fever’s gone.”
—S. D. Gordon.

My hands were growing feverish,
And cumbered with much care;
Trembling with haste and eagerness,
Nor folded oft in prayer.
The Master came and touched my hands
(With healing in His own),
And calm and still to do His will
They grew—the fever gone.
“I must have quiet hands,” said He,
“Wherewith to work My works through thee.”

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