Empty Hands

From The Hiding Place:

She was sitting at her round mahogany table, working on yet another appeal for her soldiers' center. AS she saw the number of people entering the room, she laid down her pen. She looked from one face to another, until she came to mine and gave a little gasp of comprehension. It was Friday morning, and I had not yet come up with the results of the test. 

"My dear sister-in-law," Father began gently, "there is a joyous journey which each of God's children sooner or later sets out on. And, Jans, some must go to their Father empty-handed, but you will run to Him with hands full!"

"All your clubs...," Tante Anna ventured.

"Your writings...," Mama added.

"The funds you've raised...," said Betsie.

"Your talks...," I began.

But our well-meant words were useless. In front of us the proud face crumbled; Tante Jans put her hands over her eyes and began to cry. "Empty, empty!" she choked at last through tears. "How can we bring anything to God? What does He care for our little tricks and trinkets?"

And then as we listened in disbelief she lowered her hands and with tears still coursing down her face whispered, "Dear Jesus, I thank You that we must come with empty hands. I Thank You that You have done all--all--on the Cross, and that all we need in life or death is to be sure of this."