My Hands

I looked down at my hands today and decided they sure don't look like the hands of a pampered woman and I was thankful for that. There are no fancy fake fingernails, no smooth skin on the palms of my hands. There are even a few callouses. My nails are short and often have a bit of the dark rich soil under them. The side of my index finger is very rough from pulling weeds and the top of my right thumb is cracked most of the time. Washing up the milking equipment is not easy on the fingers either. Regardless of how they look and feel , Emery never minds holding my hand in his and these hands of mine still have plenty of tenderness to hold a baby or sooth a fevered brow if need be. My hands like to be busy and not idle for a minute. I didn't grow up working hard. Matter of fact never once did my mother and father require me to do a chore, besides making my bed. I can't remember washing dishes once for my mother. We never had a dog to care for and as far as I can remember we only had one cat and that was short lived. It was a mean wild kitten that would come up and bite your backside as soon as you sat down. I was just thinking about how many times I heard my grandmother say that this or that person has "peasant" hands because they were not tiny and refined like her own. I suspect she would view me as a peasant ! My hands are strong and able to do what needs to be done.

I remember hearing that a persons hands tell a great deal about a person and I suspect that is true. May my hands always tell that story that they are always ready to fold in prayer, hold in them love and compassion and be ready for the work in front of me.

Psalm 90:17 May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us— yes, establish the work of our hands.

My favorite photo...Emery holding my hand