had the odd desire to photograph and document their worn appearance.
The artist in me always seems to pop, in the most unlikely of circumstances.
I was struck with all the things they have seen.
They bear the marks of life, all of its cares, joys and sorrows.
I remembered my first job the angst felt there as my hands toiled
I recalled my wedding day, the incandescent feelings felt by my heart as I held my new husband's hand
I remembered our second anniversary, coming home after being rained out of our camping trip, only to find our friends in our living room with a new TV
(those hands dropped the camping gear in delight)
I spent time thinking about my son, I remember holding him in those hands, willing him to take just one breath and live.
I reflected on my daughter being placed in these hands while I said "She's here, really and truly here"
I stop and think of holding my Conner's hand as he smiles at me, trying to stand.
I am thankful for all of the times my hands would glide over the keys of a piano, expressing my innermost feelings.
Hands have a story to tell. Each one of us has a thousand of these little moments that make up a lifetime.
Some are shared, and some we keep inside only for our minds to peruse.
It strikes me though, God knows all these moments.
Inside and out,
before and after.
What an amazing God we serve! He knows the lines on our hands and the hairs on our heads.
Even before we came to be on the outside of our mothers.... he formed us!
I intend to thank God for each and every line on my hand,
for each breath I have taken and each memory formed.
Oh give thanks to the Lord; call upon his name;
make known his deeds among the peoples!
Sing to him, sing praises to him;
tell of all his wondrous works!
make known his deeds among the peoples!
Sing to him, sing praises to him;
tell of all his wondrous works!
—Psalm 105:1-2
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
2 comments:
Beautiful, Mel. Your writings inspire me. I look at my hands sometimes, too, and think that they look worn. And then I remember my mom's hands, looking at them when I was little. Even though they were creased with hard work, they were soft and warm and comforting. :)
Wonderful post Mel... so poetic and true. I never thought that in depth about my own hands, but when I look at Spencer's I see hard work, manual labor, long days and countless hours... great post mel :) You have a very creative mind and see things from a neat perspective.
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