He stood in the shadows of the synagogue, tucked somewhere between tradition and tension. The murmur of the Pharisees was thick in the air, like the scent of oil lamps and worn parchment. It was the Sabbath. The room was still except for the creak of sandals against stone and the scratch of robes brushing wood. And there He was, Jesus with fire in His eyes and compassion carved deep into His face, as He looked straight at the man with the withered hand.

The man didn’t ask to be seen. But Jesus saw him anyway.

Read Matthew 12:9–14, Mark 3:1–6, Luke 6:6–11

It was a setup, really. The Pharisees were watching, hoping He would heal so they could call it unlawful. Imagine that—hoping someone wouldn’t be healed so you could be right. But Jesus didn’t play by their rules. He never has. He looked at the man and said, “Stand up in front of everyone.” I wonder if the man hesitated. If he stared at the ground, unsure whether this was kindness or another test. I wonder if his stomach dropped, like mine does when I feel exposed, vulnerable, pulled into the center. But he stood up. I picture him trembling, unsure, unsteady, but upright.

And then Jesus asked the question that cut through all the noise:
“What is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” No one answered. Not a single whisper. And so, in that aching silence, Jesus reached through the shame and fear and said the words that broke through every rule and every reason to hide: “Stretch out your hand.”

He did. And it was healed.

What strikes me most is not just the miracle, it is the way Jesus called him out of the shadows and into himself. He healed the man, yes. But more than that, He invited him to live whole. He didn’t ask him to perform or prove anything. Just to show up and stretch out what felt useless. There are places where I hide the parts of myself that feel withered. Where I don’t feel brave or useful or wanted.

But then, there are places where I stand a little taller. Where I remember who I am and why I’m here. For me, that place is in the kitchen with music playing and the windows open, garlic sizzling in the pan and a story forming in my hands. It’s at the table, surrounded by people I love, where laughter and spilled drinks and second helpings create a kind of holy rhythm. It’s on my morning walk by the sea, when the air smells like salt and sun and my thoughts settle into prayer. It is in these moments that I am the most myself, not because I have it all together, but because I feel seen and held and called into wholeness.

“there is a way of living that invites us to become more ourselves, more whole, more free”

Shauna Niequist, Celebrate Every Day

I think that is what happened that Sabbath day. Jesus was not just restoring a hand, He was restoring a man to himself.

That is grace.

So today I am asking myself: Where am I the best version of myself? And I am asking you the same. Where are you most yourself? Where do you feel seen and steady and strong. Maybe it is holding a baby. Maybe it is teaching a room full of squirmy second graders. Maybe it is writing, dancing, planting, praying.

Wherever it is, go there. Show up. Stretch out your hand. Because grace is waiting.

Gracefully yours,

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Reference
Niequist, S. (2024). Celebrate Every Day. Zondervan.