As I write, I'm delightfully basted in the scent of lemon grass oil; I just got a massage. I've only ever had one other massage in my life, so this is a fairly memorable occasion. I'm thankful for the kind woman who spent an hour of her time trying to talk some relaxation into these stubborn, over-tightened muscles of mine.

Actually, I'm a little more than thankful. I'm downright...perplexed. I guess I'm not sure what drives a person to want to be a masseuse. I'd always thought of it as "glam"–even the word sounds cool. But after the workout this woman just went through, I'm sure I was wrong. It was more than her willingness to expend energy that got me. What I'm really wondering is: What drives a person to be willling to touch someone else?

I can think of many other things I'd rather do than make skin-to-skin contact with strangers as they present themselves in the most awkward and needy manner (i.e., without their clothes). It's hard enough just accidentally bumping knuckles with a stranger, and now we're talking about massaging them. In my mind, it sounds horrific. Add to this the endless combination of physiques and personalities, and again, I'm not sure what you could offer me to do the job.

But now I remember something: in a roundabout way, I share in her profession. Her work reminds me of a task I'm committed to day in and day out. No, a task that's even more intimate at times. I have a Savior who touched me–much deeper than skin to skin, but heart to bleeding heart, He offered me rest when I presented myself in my most awkward and needy state, with nothing to hide behind, in all my sinfulness. And he does it every day.

And so, I've joined him in his work of touching souls. Sometimes it takes a few minutes: placing an intentional fingerprint of kindness or love, a smile, an offer to help onto the life of another. Other times, I might work for hours, lose sleep, rearrange my schedule. I work diligently to alternately applying pressure and gentility, all the while offering the aroma of Christ to a weary soul.

And just as I was, I'm sure some weary recipient of His love is completely perplexed. Why give time, skill, and energy to intimately sooth the pains of a hurting soul? If I hadn't been touched by the same nail-pierced hands, I wouldn't understand it either.