Blessing the Work of My Hands
Some twelve or thirteen years ago I sat on a couch outside my dorm room, butterflies in my stomach, Bible in hand. It was the morning of my first nursing clinical, and I was scared out of my mind. My Bible that morning fell open to Nehemiah 6, and as I read, this verse jumped off the page at me: "But I prayed, 'Now strengthen my hands.'" (Nehemiah 6:9). They were completely taken out of context, really--although maybe not. The Israelites were just undertaking the rebuilding of their nation and they faced intimidation on every side. Their fear did not change the work that needed to be done, and so Nehemiah had prayed. For steady hands. For the strength he needed. For courage. Now strengthen my hands.
It's been years since then, and it's impossible to count just how many times in my nursing career I've breathed that same prayer. Before starting an IV, waiting for a baby to be delivered, sitting in a helicopter waiting to take off, in the middle of a code when there's no time to pray anything else. It's been like balm, calming my nerves and recentering my focus, reminding me that I am nothing--not even an adequate nurse--without strength from him.
Not long ago as I drove into work, I was reflecting on my sick little patients. In neonatal intensive care we often see patients whose outcome, at least at the outset, seems hopeless. I was tired and weary, and felt like all my work was for nothing. There was no improvement in some of my patients, and in my worst moments I wondered if there would ever be an improvement. I prayed the old familiar prayer from Nehemiah. I prayed for wisdom, for quick judgment. For steady hands and patience in my work. And then I prayed a new prayer, one I've often heard farmers and laborers pray: Bless the work of my hands. When a farmer prays that, he's asking that the fields he sows would produce a life-giving harvest. He's asking that his hard work would not be for naught, but that the effort he's putting in with his hands would yield results. Oh, how I needed that kind of prayer!
I've prayed it often since that night. Don't let me just carry out orders, don't let me just buy a family more time. Don't just steady the hands that often shake, but bless the work of my hands. Let it count for something. Let it make a difference. When my shift has ended and I return to my home, let me have left my patient changed somehow. I shouldn't be surprised, then, when I see my tiny patients improving--and I have.
These thoughts have been tumbling around in my head for days, and it's ironic that the first chance I had to write about them would fall on Nurses' Day. But I think it's a prayer that's worth praying in any profession, be it teacher, mayor, or stay-at-home parent. Bless the work of my hands, and let it count for something, let it make a difference. Let me not just put in my time, but let me change the lives I have the opportunity to touch. Let me celebrate the "harvest"--whatever that means in my chosen career. Let me marvel at how my effort, somehow, has changed the course of someone's life. Bless the work of my hands.
It's been years since then, and it's impossible to count just how many times in my nursing career I've breathed that same prayer. Before starting an IV, waiting for a baby to be delivered, sitting in a helicopter waiting to take off, in the middle of a code when there's no time to pray anything else. It's been like balm, calming my nerves and recentering my focus, reminding me that I am nothing--not even an adequate nurse--without strength from him.
Not long ago as I drove into work, I was reflecting on my sick little patients. In neonatal intensive care we often see patients whose outcome, at least at the outset, seems hopeless. I was tired and weary, and felt like all my work was for nothing. There was no improvement in some of my patients, and in my worst moments I wondered if there would ever be an improvement. I prayed the old familiar prayer from Nehemiah. I prayed for wisdom, for quick judgment. For steady hands and patience in my work. And then I prayed a new prayer, one I've often heard farmers and laborers pray: Bless the work of my hands. When a farmer prays that, he's asking that the fields he sows would produce a life-giving harvest. He's asking that his hard work would not be for naught, but that the effort he's putting in with his hands would yield results. Oh, how I needed that kind of prayer!
I've prayed it often since that night. Don't let me just carry out orders, don't let me just buy a family more time. Don't just steady the hands that often shake, but bless the work of my hands. Let it count for something. Let it make a difference. When my shift has ended and I return to my home, let me have left my patient changed somehow. I shouldn't be surprised, then, when I see my tiny patients improving--and I have.
These thoughts have been tumbling around in my head for days, and it's ironic that the first chance I had to write about them would fall on Nurses' Day. But I think it's a prayer that's worth praying in any profession, be it teacher, mayor, or stay-at-home parent. Bless the work of my hands, and let it count for something, let it make a difference. Let me not just put in my time, but let me change the lives I have the opportunity to touch. Let me celebrate the "harvest"--whatever that means in my chosen career. Let me marvel at how my effort, somehow, has changed the course of someone's life. Bless the work of my hands.
