Hands….

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul.  i think that’s true. What about  the hands?  what are they?  I think the hands are the story line to your life.   i know about the “life lines” in your palm but i’m not talking about that.  I’m talking about the years of stories that can be told by looking at someone’s hands.  The roughness of a farmer’s hands.  The softness of a caregiver’s hands.

I recall when my grandma was still alive.  I remember the onion skin thiness of her hands; how her veins showed through.  Those hands told the story of bringing up two girls during rough times. Of sinks full of dishes and cookies baked at Christmas.  They also told the story of many songs being played on the organ at church.  I remember as i looked at her for the last time as she was lying in the casket, i wanted to reach in and touch those hands……..  i didn’t know what they would feel like and i wanted the memory of their warmth to be what stood out to me…… so i didn’t do it.

One day when i was at work typing away, i looked down at my hands and was surprised to see that i was looking at my mom’s hands.  How did they get there?  At what point did i go from having hands that told the story of changing diapers to hands that tell the story of , shall i say it, mid-life?

What do your hands say about you?  do they tell a story of sacrifice?  of selfishness?  look at them… give them a good look and think about the stories they will tell someday.

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4 responses to “Hands….

  1. You sure do like to make me think don’t you!

  2. I have often thought that I was staring down at my mom’s hands when I look at my own….funny you said the same thing…thought I was just weird!

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