We’re a lot like the moth trapped on the inside of the door. Hands are there to help us, carry us to freedom, let us fly once we are safe enough to do so. But, we, like the moth, fight these hands. We know not what the lips behind them say, we know nothing of their intentions; so, we fight. We flap our winged gums, we flail our hands and feet wildly, and we stop only once we’re spent and cannot move without fear of falling. In that flapping and flailing, we forget about the hands. They’re a backdrop to our reality; they become but a secondary concern to the feeling of not persevering. We fear failure and panic in our anxieties of what we are not able to do. But, those hands remain. What seems like an exhaustive lifetime to the moth trapped against the door is but a second to the hands and their lips. We have just preserved ourselves in the tired wilting of our bodies. We have not persevered and we have not found freedom. The hands, seeing our tormented selves, is able to lift us from that world behind the door and escort us to the safety of the garden. We, overcome with joy and seeing our escape, leave the hands behind in a show of fantastic and unbridled victory. The hands fall to the side, triumphant in their goal. I say, do not forget those hands. They have saved more than you, and have taken much longer than our own lives to devote to doing so. Be thankful for the outreached hand, even those you fear, even those you don’t understand or cannot see. God will always be where you are; not because He comes with you, but because you are always in His presence.