Have you ever looked at your hands? Slowly open your hands and stare down at them. Turn them over, palms up and then palms down. Stop and think for a moment about these hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years.
These hands have been spreading seeds for many a year. They are framed by my desk. Looking at them gives me comfort. These hands have supported, led, comforted, applauded, helped, and taught me for more than 50 years. They are Mom and Dad’s Hands.
These hands, though wrinkled and worn have been the tools they have used all their lives to reach out and grab and embrace life.
They braced and caught their falls when as a toddler they crashed upon the floor.
As a child their mothers taught them to fold them in prayer.
They put food in their mouth and clothes on their back.
They tied their shoes and pulled on their boots.
They wrote the letters home and to loved ones.
Decorated with their wedding bands they showed the world that they were married and loved someone special.
They were uneasy when they held their newborn children.
They soothed many animals and led them to safety.
They dried the tears of their children and caressed the love of their life.
They have been dry and dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent.
Yet, they were strong and sure when they worked the farm for many a year.
They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, cold and chapped.
Yet, they have held children, consoled neighbors, and clenched in fists of anger when they didn't understand.
They have covered their face, combed their hair, and washed and cleansed their bodies.
They have held many books and the written word to read and learn from.
They trembled when they buried their parents and son.
These hands hold them up, lay them down, and again continue to fold in prayer.
These hands are the mark of where they've been and what they mean to me.
(Inspired and adapted from a hands quote by an unknown author)