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Every Hand Has a Story to Tell

Have you ever stopped to examine your hands? I mean, really stopped and taken a close look at them? I have to admit that I have a weird obsession with my hands. I love my hands, in fact. I've always thought that they were one of my nicer features, and have been complimented throughout my life on how pretty my hands are. I notice lots of things about them, from the soft skin that delicately covers and protects them to the imperfections that make them all the more beautiful. Yep- they're definitely my hands.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I were chatting in the kitchen as we worked on making dinner for our family after a long day. He glanced at my hands, and said, 'your hands are starting to look older.' He said this with a chuckle and light heart, and I knew immediately that it wasn't his intention to offend me in any way. We often joke about how old we look and feel, and wonder where the years we've been married have gone.

My hands do look older. They have more lines and wrinkles, and because they're delicate and thin, my veins protrude even more than the once did. Upon closer examination, I've noticed that my hands now look the way I remember my mother's hands looked when I was a little girl... and I always loved her hands.

It wasn't until a recent sermon given by my pastor that I was challenged to take a closer look at my hands. They've been around for almost 35 years, and they've done a lot of amazing things. My hands are mine, but in a way, they're not mine at all. I was reminded that my hands were given to me as a gift by God, and there are still a multitude of ways that I can use them to bring honor and glory to the one who gave me such a beautiful gift.

My hands hold the hands of my children. They wipe their noses, smooth over their foreheads, and soothe little hurts. They tickle tummies, rub backs, and pack lunch boxes. They prepare toothbrushes, fold down blankets, pour medicines, and prepare meals. They throw footballs (poorly), color, create projects, write notes, and even build LEGOs.

My hands clean the house, tend to the garden, wash the car, fold the laundry, pick up and put away groceries and dishes.

My hands furiously type all day long, snap photos, complete work related tasks.

My hands hold a microphone each Sunday morning, and at the same time, are turned up, giving praise to our Lord and Savior. 

My hands hold the hands of teammates, circled up in prayer, they greet smiling faces, give squeezes of comfort.

My hands aren't much different from your hands. They might look a bit different, but they strive to do the very same things that yours do- giving back, taking care, speaking life, being a light in this overwhelmingly dark world. Our hands are a gift, and each hand has an important story to tell.

 How are you using your hands?

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