During a World War Two bombing, a statue of Christ was damaged. Experts were able to repair most of it, but the hands were damaged beyond repair.
The people in the city ultimately decided to leave it as it was and beside the statue, they put a plaque that read, “You are my hands.”
I was reminded of this story as I read in Saints about David Whitmer. He received a letter asking him to come and pick up Emma, Joseph, and Oliver and bring them to his house due to increased persecution in Harmony.
David’s father asked him to pray about the immediacy of the matter—it was planting season and David still had twenty acres of plowing to do.
David did pray, and felt it was important to finish his work plowing before he left.
The next morning, he went out to start his plowing and saw, to his extreme surprise, that six acres had been plowed. He talked with his sister about it, and she said she saw men out working in the field, but thought it was hired help so she didn’t investigate any further.
When David described this miracle to his family, his father said, “There must be an overruling hand in this, and I think you had better go down to Pennsylvania as soon as your plaster of paris is sown.”
I feel that these two stories manifest the other side of what we discussed yesterday about God.
We should expect help in our trying moments. But on the other side of the same coin, we should also expect to BE the help in OTHER’S trying moments.
As Elder Holland has said,
“May we give the God and father of us all a helping hand with his staggering task of answering prayers, providing comfort, drying eyes, and strengthening feeble knees. If we do that, we will be more like the disciples of Christ we were meant to be.”
We have a part to play in God’s miracles.
“As we emulate His perfect example, our hands can become His hands, our eyes His eyes, our heart His heart.”
Somebody left that pie.
Somebody plowed that field.
Somebody lifted David so he could lift Joseph so Joseph could lift us.
Maybe that’s what life is about. A string of hands lifting hands.
…being God’s hands.
Story from “You Are My Hands”
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