I used to think it was random.
Whether it was me and my friends up at 4 a.m. having those conversations, or it was when I got a text from Mom about Dad. It could be at church when I'm praying, or just sitting in my room, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I was being asked questions that cut deeply, or I was the one prying, trying to see something inside.
It was at these moments when my hands felt sweaty, but weren't. When I became abnormally aware of the wrinkles in my hands. Rubbing my fingers together, weirdly conscious of every indent, every line. It was just like tapping my foot or shaking my leg when I'm sitting down - it just happens instinctively until I become self-aware of it. At the time I thought it was just a habit linked to nervousness or pressure.
One day I was listening to someone's testimony, and I heard something that resonated deeply within me. It reminded me of my family. My thoughts started to race, my heart began to pound, and I found myself feeling my hands again. I felt a calling. In my mind, I was formulating exactly what to tell that person after they finished speaking. As if I was consoling them without opening my mouth. Comforting them. Praising them. I thought to myself:
I need to let this person know how admirable they are. How the way the Lord works through their family is something I wish my family had, and what I wish my future family has. I was uncomfortable and anxious. All the pistons were firing — I was shaking my leg, tapping my foot, clasping my hands.
It was then I realized the wrinkles in my hands appear whenever I am anxious in regards to Him, and when my uncertainty is unsettling. That this feeling occurs either when I feel the Lord is trying to tell me something, or when I am trying to reach out to Him. Maybe the Lord could be calling me to be vulnerable, knowing how closed I am. Maybe it's me reaching out to Him, praying that my friend would receive help. My heart could be searching for an answer before I have a question - before my mind even knows I'm searching.
This summer at 4 a.m., telling people I seemingly just met, about my close friend that committed suicide. This summer during church service, my Mom texting me about how her and Dad aren't talking again. This summer, sitting in my room, reflecting on His grace. This summer, being asked questions I so badly wanted to answer, moments I so badly wanted to let it all out, but couldn't bring myself to. It was at these times I felt His presence, and my hands knew it before I did.
I always wondered how I could see signs from Him, and how clear they would be. My friend physically felt the Lord tap him on his shoulder during worship. Another friend, finding a special person at the exact same place he got arrested at years ago. When was it my turn to see such direct signs? I wanted the Lord to pave a yellow brick road for me. I wanted him to tell me that these people could be my people. Maybe this whole time, like feeling the wrinkles on my hands, he's been giving me obvious signs, and I've just been blind to them.
This year is going to be a good one.