Hands

Hands say a lot about a person. Sort of like the rings of a tree. They can tell what kind of a life a person has had. If they have worked hard, or had a life of leisure. They tell a person's story.

These are my mamaw's hands. She used them to work hard. She took care of her family with these hands. She held twins with them, back when that wasn't so common. She doted on her grandchildren with them. She used them to build houses out of cutting boards and to do "lessons" when we would play school. She used them to write letters to us and to sign checks when she would send a "tad" of money. She used them to dial phone numbers to call and encourage us when we were sad or scared. She used them for many years to take care of my papaw when he was sick.
She used them to sit at my table and string beans. To teach me how to make things in the kitchen. She used them to wiggle her fingers in a little wave. She used them to play peek-a-boo and patty-cake with my girls when they were little.

Her hands were her instruments of service and love to her family.

Yesterday, I held these hands for the last time in this world. This morning those hands look very different. They are no longer worn and fragile. They are fresh and strong. This morning those new hands are holding the hands of her savior. I will miss those hands, but I look forward to the day when I will hold them again.