I just spent the past hour or so washing dishes. My hands are slowly becoming less like raisins, although they still have the complete softness of constant exposure to soap and water. My fingers glide across the keys of my computer as I type, I feel as if they barely touch the keys I intend to enter, less concerned about what to write and more intent on slipping over and across.
I take for granted these two hands of mine. They are capable of doing so much, and yet I rarely thank them or give them any attention. Not that I should go around looking at them and saying oh thank you hands for being great at opening doors and throwing frisbees and driving stick shift cars and writing words on paper and holding other hands. But I think I should at least be grateful to them for all I've put them through.
For instance, four years ago I was playing tug-of-war with some friends. I stood in the front of my line of eight people, wrapped the rope once around my right hand, and waiting for the "go!" Needless to say my hand broke instantly. 5th metacarpal completely broken, 4th with fractures. It healed quickly, and I am more or less able to use it as if it were brand new. There are times when I remember it's not the 'ol perfect hand it used to be, but it does well.
Later that year, I had a scooter accident where I badly scarred that same hand. Blood dripped everywhere, but scabs formed in a matter of hours and slowly fell away over the next couple weeks. You have to deliberately look at it to see any scarring. I've also been bitten by a stupid chihuahua, sliced a finger open with a pocket knife, and so on and so forth.
For some reason, in all they've been through (mainly my right hand), I've still been told every now and then that I have beautiful hands. I suppose that's a good compliment to get, in fact I'd much rather hear that than have someone come up to me and say wow, your hands are quite ugly. I won't complain of course, I like compliments, and in all conceited honesty, I agree.
But what of my hands?
Do I protect them and do my best to keep them beautiful, clean and well trimmed? Or do I go out into this world and get them banged up, dirty and scarred? I can't exactly think the right way to go is the former. I can't think there would be any reason for me to stay clean and dainty. That's right, I used the word dainty. No, no I don't think so. So be ready world, my hands are going to grab you by the horns.
Or something like that.
And these frail hands, they tremble as they pen perhaps their last. And these weak words, can never say what cannot be surpassed. I need your love, and most of all I want to feel your peace. I need your love, let everything that you are not decrease.
I love your hands. Your baby hands were soft and perfectly formed. I was tickled when you discovered them and would gaze at them as you waved them about. I loved blowing raspberries into your tiny palm and watching you giggle and proffer your hand for more. I even loved it when your little fingers would poke my nose and eyes in exploration.
ReplyDeleteThe hands of your boyhood were like the paws of a puppy, waiting to be grown into. You fashioned a box out of wood ~ the work of your own hands. You were proud; we were all proud of your achievement.
Your young man's hands are strong and perfectly formed. And yes, beautiful in the perfection of God's design.
Your hands are God's hands in this hurting world. I thank Him for the joy and privilege of having known these hands since they first clenched and grasped at your birth, to the present when they are open , flexing, working, giving, comforting and blessing.
Your hands...how I love them.
Meg, you made me cry.
ReplyDeleteI never did take a look at your hands but this reminds me of my Caleb. From birth people would say something about is hands(they are pretty big for a little man). Now they are almost 4 year old hands and he even, at a young age, has touched the hearts of many with them. They are constantly dirty but never sticky (he hates sticky stuff). You will often find dirt under his nails and some sort of scrape from something he was doing. But in the moments that most stand out are the times when he has reached out those little hands to say hi to someone, to shake their hand, to hug them and to play with them. I think of the times in El Salvador when he was dirtier than dirt and he would hold a missionaries hand, or how he carried buckets and buckets of dirt and cement for a project there, or all the times he played baseball with a local person and shared his chips with the hungry dogs. Or how he just welcomes people into his life with those hands. The hands that play in sand, hold a truck and hit you in the back because he loves you. Praying that your hands continue to touch the hearts of many around you today!
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