There’s something beautiful in a picture of a hand reaching out.
It’s not really the same as stretching – even though it looks the same, the heart behind reaching is something wholly different. Stretching just sounds…shallow.
Reaching out from darkness into light
Reaching out to another hand to grab on to
Reaching out into space
Reaching out into nothingness
Reaching out to a promise
Reaching out towards a dream
Reaching out to God
I see reaching as a sign of hope, whether that hope moves towards your hand or from it. Towards, I see how hope flows as a gentle yet firm “HANG ON!” sign, like something or someone’s got you, looking out for you, is there for you – that you’re not alone.
From, I see how hope flows as the Helper. The support. The anchor. We see the hope because we stand in it. The hope that is within and around us can be extended towards, again, something or someone, who is in need of something to hold on to. Something that can see the light because they are part of it. Or in the light. Or They ARE the light.
Either way, the story of a hand reaching out is usually a deep and almost intimate one. One that stands beautifully without certainty, but with hope. I think that’s why I prefer reaching rather than stretching. In stretching out, it seems more likely that we’d miss our target. Too many of our stories will end with “almost.”
But with reaching, hope prevails and never disappoints. Even if whatever we’re reaching towards is uncertain, it’s as if that hope carries our hands closer.