I love wrinkled and aged hands, hands that say, "I've had a full life." I think of the stories all of those lines, wrinkles, and marks might tell.
And I love new, tiny, innocent, smooth, waiting to live the rest of their life hands. Hands that still have so much opportunity and life to live and give.
And when you intertwine those two it feels a little like magic. The stories of these hands locking making a special memory.
Our hands tell a lot about us. Some of our hands are open- open to receive when we most need it and open to give when someone needs a little holding or a little pushing. Sometimes we just need a hand for a bit of guidance. Maybe, like in the case of these hands today, they just needed a little help making something beautiful because their eyes don't see like they used too. They needed a bit of direction, a little hand holding while they created something. Some of us may need some guidance and some of us may need to be willing to give it. I know in different seasons we may be the giver and at other times we may need to receive.
Our hands can heal and they can hurt. Our hands can be used to swipe the phone one more time, or they can be used to tickle the back of our little one, for the 100th time when we are exhausted. They can stay in my pocket or they can reach out to those who are outside my home, the ones I have to search and be broken for…because that’s what I asked and that’s what I am called to do.
You see a couple of years ago I prayed a prayer that has changed me. I asked God to break my heart for what breaks His, and then do something about it. This has broken me to my core. I used to not have all the feels. I would see someone in need or broken in need of a hand and say, “that’s not really MY department or expertise, someone else can handle that.”
But after praying that, now everything has me broken. And I am feeling ALL the feels, ALL the time. Sometimes it can feel overwhelming, but God is also just calling me to help one at a time. Just do what’s right in front of you. And most of the time that’s all we need to do. And it reminds me of my hands.
Are my hands, hands of love? Do they reach out, are they open to help, are the open to receive?
No matter the color, big or small, clean or dirty, well-polished or unkempt, lived long or have hardly lived- all of these hands need each other.
Are we willing to reach out? To guide or hold, give or receive?
Take a look at your hands. What story are they telling? Whose hand has it held today or will it hold tomorrow? Don't we all wonder what stories our hands will tell one day?