CAUGHT HER RED HANDED

I was sitting there—

quiet, wrapped in a blanket,

holding something people love to point at.

A cigarette.

And if you looked close enough,

you’d probably say it.

“There it is.”

“That’s what’s wrong with her.”

⸻

Because people love clean hands.

Or at least the illusion of them.

They want something they can see—

something they can measure—

something they can judge.

Smoke.

Mistakes.

Habits.

Struggles.

⸻

“But here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud…

we all have dirty hands.”

⸻

Not one of us walks this earth untouched.

Not one of us makes it through

without grabbing hold of something

we weren’t meant to carry.

Some people just hide it better.

Some people trade visible dirt

for invisible pride.

But dirt is dirt.

⸻

You see mine.

That’s the difference.

You see the cigarette in my hand—

but you don’t see the war in my body.

You don’t see the emotional weight.

You don’t see the nights I thought I wouldn’t wake up.

You don’t see the conversations between me and God

when everything in me was breaking.

⸻

“You judged the hand…

but God was looking at the heart.”

⸻

People look at me and wonder

how I can say I have faith

while still holding something like this.

Like faith should make you spotless overnight.

Like walking with God means

you suddenly become untouchable.

Perfect.

Clean.

⸻

But God never asked for clean hands.

He asked for surrender.

⸻

“Because hands will always get dirty…

but hearts can be made new.”

⸻

My hands?

They’ve held things they shouldn’t have.

They’ve reached for things that didn’t heal me.

They’ve tried to cope, to survive, to make sense of pain.

And yes—

right now they hold a cigarette.

⸻

But those same hands have also been lifted in prayer.

They’ve been raised in worship.

They’ve held onto God

when I had nothing left in me.

⸻

Dirty hands.

Clean heart.

⸻

And here’s what I’ve learned…

God’s hand is not afraid of mine.

He doesn’t pull away

when He sees the dirt.

He doesn’t step back and say,

“Come back when you’ve cleaned yourself up.”

⸻

“The hand of God is the cleansing.”

⸻

Not my effort.

Not your approval.

Not behavior modification.

Love.

⸻

The same hand/love that formed me—

still reaches for me.

The same hand/love that knew every flaw—

still chose me.

The same hand/love that could judge me—

instead covers me.

⸻

So yes…

You caught me red handed.

⸻

But what you didn’t see—

was the hand of God holding mine.

⸻

RED= BLOOD OF YESHUA

HAND= LOVE. God is LOVE.

🕊

This isn’t perfection.

This is surrender.

— 🖤EvanSENT🪽