This morning while I was at work, as I was drumming my fingers on the table waiting for a data query to load, I happened to glance down at my hands. I haven’t looked at them carefully for a while.
I discovered a few more rough spots, some scratches and a couple of burn marks. My nails were pared short in the most practical fashion. Some of the corners of my nails were looking a bit dry.
Overall my hands were still looking pretty alright. But it was definitely a different sight on the first day of my marriage…smooth, silky soft and nicely french-manicured.
Since that day, over the years, my hands have picked up signs of being well used. But I don’t mind the scars and the marks. Each one has a story. Each one is yet another sign that I have people to love and care for.
When I held Nathan’s chubby little hands today. I marvelled at their tiny perfection. So small, yet so complete. Each knuckle, Each digit, each fingernail so perfectly formed.
These small hands have a lifetime of exploring, discovering, playing, learning to do. I hope they hold plenty of hugs, pats and handshakes. I hope they grow to be strong hands, helpful hands, loving hands.
What do you see when you look at hands?
…Hands learn more then minds do.
Hands learn to hold other hands.
How to grip pencils and mould poetry.
How to tickle piano keys,
And grip the handles of a bicycle.
How to hold old people and touch babies…
…Some people read palms to tell you your future,
But I read hands to tell your past.
Each scar makes a story worth telling.