Clinging and Clutching

After cleaning out my car a few days ago I began walking back to the house when a strange sensation came over me. I suddenly became very aware that my hands were empty. Such an odd feeling, both hands swinging by my sides with wind wafting between my fingers. What was I expecting exactly? I suppose my car keys in the moment, or my cell phone. But the moment of realization was glaring, as if to say, "look here, take note of this sensation." It shouldn't be abnormal to have empty hands. Should it? (Of course situationally one might argue I should have had my car keys since I had just been in my car, but this is not the point! Debaters, sit down.)

It is the day and age of technology. Everywhere we go there are gadgets in people's hands, held to the ears, captivating the eyes at attention. And if it's not a technological device, it's a purse, or a bag, isn't it? The last time I can remember sitting in one place having nothing to capture my attention was never. And it's not just that we're used to it, it feels awkward without anything. The idea of waiting for a table at a restaurant or to board an airplane might not readily spark a concern, but if the moment comes and there's nothing to occupy my thoughts and focus, it's awkward isn't it?

So what does it all mean?

There's a Tenth Avenue North song that I love called "Empty My Hands."

Empty my hands

Fill up my heart

Capture my mind with You

To put it simply--I need to walk with empty hands. I need to be content in a sedentary position without something to read, or to text, or to play, or to simply look occupied. This isn't merely about physicality. Why is it strange to walk twenty steps from the car on the street to the front door with empty hands? I feel naked. I find myself grasping at the air, looking for something to clutch, to cling to.

And yet I have been asked to empty my hands. The two most hated words my ears could hear for the past eight years would be "let go."

I don't want to let go. Ever. I am a clinger to what I grow to love most and that old familiar gut-wrenching pit-of-my-stomach feeling tends to rise up at the sound of those two words.

Let go.

In a world where virtually all things are relatively within our grasp, it's hard to say no, first of all. Second of all it's incredibly harder to let go once you've started holding on. Sign me up as the poster child of this concept.

When we come to a resting place on this journey of life, our tendency is to pull out the cell phone and play a game while we wait. Something to occupy the attention span until life begins moving again. But I don't want just any attention-holder.

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 40:10

He has called me to be still... and to know. This means I must drop whatever is in my hands and walk more swiftly towards the One who deserves my undivided attention, focus, and devotion. Walking with empty hands shouldn't feel weird or awkward. It should feel free, and liberating. Without the distractions I habitually return to, I am free to look only to Him, following hard towards whatever He places in front of me to grasp onto. Never clinging to any but Him, but accepting the cup He presents before me on a daily basis.

Capture my mind with You, Lord. I empty my hands before You.

"Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin that so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." Hebrews 12:1-2