Hands

This morning Danny asked when my thinking time is. I'm not sure my brain ever really stops, but I guess my best time to think is when I do the dishes and tidy up the house. While tidying up I noticed how rough and dry my hands are looking. I pondered about the significance of hands.

When I was a child I suffered an injury that nearly destroyed the ability to use my right hand. Doctors told my parents it would take numerous reconstructive surgeries to repair my little hand. My father placed his hands upon my head and blessed me. The experience is one I hold sacred, and without going into more details, I experienced a miracle of healing. I am truly grateful for the restoration of my hands, and the hands that blessed me.

I can't think of hands without thinking of my dear mother. I think she has the most beautiful hands I've ever seen. Her hands are a symbol of love, sacrifice, endurance, and kindness. Her hands, though scarred with the effects of Rheumatoid Arthritis, are constantly in use on behalf of others. She teaches, comforts, uplifts, and creates with her lovely hands. Despite the pain, she continually uses them for good. I am constantly in awe of the beautiful work she does crocheting intricate blankets and flowers to share with others. Her hands show her goodness and love. I am grateful for her hands that have raised, comforted, and served me throughout my life.

Want to read a beautiful talk about hands? Go here.

My hands are busily working on finishing up that guest book! Can't wait to share:)

With Love,
L