the hand a story I found

The Hand

Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment — to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful.

Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of her student’s art. And they were.

But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. He was the teacher’s true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes.

Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went — until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas’ desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was.

The little boy looked away and murmured, "It’s yours, teacher."

She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, "Take my hand, Douglas, we’ll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil." Or, "Let’s do this together." Douglas was most thankful for his teacher’s hand.

Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much it means to the Douglases of the world. They might not always say thanks, but they’ll remember the hand that reaches out.

"Though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand. Psalm 37:24

"My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me. Psalm 63:8

Rayette Rucker

World Services for the Blind

Assistive Technology Instructor Online Trainee

Google Voice Number: 3146379985

JAWS 2020 certified

reflections for this morning

So, these are some of my reflections for this morning as I sit here listening to music. 

God, are you there? I ask this question all the time. As I sit here thinking about all the chronic illnesses I’ve been dealt. I could be angry and resentful that God would let this happen to me, or I could see that he made me like this to help other people and to see that maybe he wants to use me to help others, because after all, my story does matter and i matter.

Why did I have to go through trauma and be diagnosed with DID? Well, I can tell you this, I have DID because it makes me stronger and each of my alters are a testament to that strength. They each are a piece of the puzzle that may at times seem complicated and hard to solve, but it is a beautiful masterpiece made in God’s incomprehensible beauty and wisdom. So, on the hard days when trauma and flashbacks are overtaking me, I remember that I am made in His image. He decides the plans for my life, and nothing happens without a reason, whether that be to teach me a lesson, or whether it be for me to gain more wisdom, there is a reason for everything. If you are going through a hard time, God wants you to know that he’s not finished with you yet. He has so much more planned for you, more than you will ever comprehend or know. Much love,