I read an article last week called “Make Something With Your Hands, Even if it’s Hideous.” In it writer Jancee Dunn quotes Dr. Michael Norton saying that when we create something we “feel a sense of confidence and a sense of mastery that is really hard to get sometimes in other places.” Dr. Norton is a business professor at Harvard, and he’s making the circuit for his new book The Ritual Effect: From Habit to Ritual, Harness the Surprising Power of Everyday Actions. Dunn suggests making things, even simple things: salad dressing, refrigerator pickles, origami birds or pianos or boxes.

The advice is simple. Don’t be too serious about this. Have some fun. Taking the time to make something is good for us. Such activity lowers stress and boosts happiness. The article goes on to say that the act of making can be healing and healthy for the maker. It describes a frame decorated with shells that a person has held onto for decades. Apparently, it’s not a thing of beauty but is a sort of symbol of a time and memories from the past.

As great as it is to make something, I find that the making becomes even more rewarding when we don’t clutch things in our hands but extend open hands to others and give them away.

Something special happens when making and giving combine. A gift that’s baked or grown or painted or cooked feels especially personal, coming from the heart of the giver. It’s not the same as ordering a gift from Amazon and having it shipped. Any gift should be appreciated, but handmade makes a difference.

Amazon doesn't carry Julia’s Ukraine votives. When Russia invaded Ukraine, Julia brought yellow and blue votive holders she had made to our small group for us to take home. I pray when I see this jar with the yellow and blue insides.

Or Kathryn’s cards. She designs a card for any occasion—birthday, Christmas, thank you, ArtSpace, many others. I’m not sure how many, but they are one of a kind. You can’t buy Kathryn cards in a store.

There’s Lorraine’s baked goods—shortbread, cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies. Her savory gifts are also handmade treats: roasted vegetables, one of her many potato dishes. And from her garden, bundles of lavender, hanging upside down to dry.

Think of the personal element and enjoy—jelly that tastes like summer, candles that smell like Christmas, baked goods that appear on the counter at work.

When Ed showed his handmade bench in our recent art show, he wanted people to run their hands over it, touch it, feel every groove, with every swipe leaving more grooves in the seat to touch. The shape was handcrafted in ways you could feel.

Jesus is creative in and well beyond our creativity, and Jesus was always giving: wine where there was water, fish for empty nets, healing for disease, the ability to walk on water instead of drowning in it, words of truth that have stood the test of time and changed the world for good.

Where there were fears and doubts, he made mud for eyes and gave sight to the blind. The garden, the torches, the ear he healed, the nails, the wood, even the grave. He made everything.

Jesus calmed storms, cast out demons, stopped the bleeding. He invited Thomas to touch his wounds, to feel and know the gift of his broken body. Jesus cooked breakfast on the beach. His hands held and holds all—from the foundations of the world to the darkest corner of my heart to the foundations of our faith.

His body and his life and his words—ultimate gifts profoundly personal for every one of us.

Besides making the whole universe out of nothing, God shaped dust into human form and breathed life into it. Our bodies—every one of them made by God. No clones. Twins, sure, but all different and beautiful. Remarkable healing powers in many ways built right in. I think sometimes I’m just renting this house I’m living in. And then with blood and nails and death in another’s body not mine, God creates something new, but not just a thing. In giving away everything, even life itself, his Son makes a people, his people altogether new.

As we enter into each other’s lives in tangible gifts, we echo in microscopic ways what Jesus has done and is doing. He incarnated to become one of us. He gave people tasks—drop your nets on the other side of the boat, fill the jars with water, take the boy’s lunch and share it. Then he died, rose and ascended—his whole life a kind of gift. Then comes the Spirit, yet another gift, giving to us even more ways to serve one another and the people around us, prompting people to go and share the good news.

We receive. We make. We give away.

Love, the real and genuine and eternal kind, is made by hands, his and ours.