The Hands of Life

I look down at my hands on the keyboard as my fingers dance over the keys on a mission to spill words onto the page.  Hands are tiny things of wonder when a newborn babe latches onto your finger, as well as wrinkled, age-spotted laborers peacefully crossed over the chest of your 101 year old grandmother as she is laid to rest.  From beginning to end, they are everything in between. 

As small children, they touch toys and books, pets and dirt, walls and doors, mom and dad. 

As adolescence, they touch sports gear and homework, sweepers and lawn mowers, cell phones and IPods, steering wheels and keyboards, and clasp tightly with the hand of someone they’ve become smitten with.

As adults, they caress loved ones, touch their children in love or discipline, work to protect a job of choice, and are used tirelessly throughout the course of each day. 

At any age, our hands mirror in prayer, rest across our hearts in patriotism, clap in our joy, wipe away our tears or those of others, hug those around us, stroke our pets, clasp the faces of loved ones, twist in anguish, express emotion, play musical instruments, build something from scratch, tear it down, paint, draw, write, and the list goes on and on and on.

Through this writing, I’ve realized what my hands represent and how I need to put them to better use.  There are many things my hands can do that they are not.  As I mirror them in prayer, I will ask God for more responsibility where my hands are concerned.  May they be blessed and used as instruments of love in this broken world.

What special things are your hands responsible for?  If you could make them do something, anything, what would it be?