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Hands

Last night I followed the usual bedtime routine, after double cleansing and teeth brushing, pyjamas on and under the covers, pillows plumped at my back I lift up the book at my bedside, put on the lamp and open up to my last marked page and a new chapter. In that moment I noticed my hands. The lamp cast a sweet glow over the skin and they gleamed. I noticed how small, lined and misshapen they are now, but still how efficient and nimble my fingers are, even though some arthritis nobbles have taken up residence at the base of thumbs and on some of my knuckles. I put my book down to study them further. In that instant I felt a deep sense of gratitude for them. I saw their resilience and beauty. A whole life time of service lay palm up facing me. I examined them closely and with deep affection, back and front ….

I thought of the buttons they’d fastened, laces tied, zips pulled. Of chopping, slicing, stirring. I remembered tiny hands held as I walked a child to school on their first day. A cheek stroked or a back rubbed, massaging the tired shoulders of our teenagers. Resting a hand upon the arm of a grieving friend. These hands have made countless cups of tea, held myriad glasses in celebration, dabbed on antiseptic and ripped off plasters. Applied lipstick, eyeshadow, perfume. Hung from branches and pulled my body up rocks. Brushed hair and wiped bottoms. They move when I speak, their own language to underpin the spoken word. There is a dynamic energy in them. I am grateful.

Years ago I read a Max Lucado book and in the first chapter he invited the reader to imagine a video on the life of their hands. I found this a fascinating idea. I was working at the prison and decided to use this idea in one of our study weekly sessions. Some of these men had murdered another human being with their bare hands. Some had abused a child…. Set fire to homes. Constructed bombs. It was difficult and dangerous territory because no one in prison is guilty….We explored the idea of things we wouldn’t want to appear in our video. I, too, personally remembered the bad stuff - the slaps, aggression, stealing, pinching, pushing, hiding, mischief making. It was a deeply revealing couple of hours. At the end and before time up, we held hands in prayer.This is not easy to do for these men, they live their lives out in a place where touch is actively discouraged. The most that’s allowed is a supervised handshake.

My father’s hands were the strongest I’ve known. Not flesh and bone, but iron. They could dish out violence and the force of a punishing slap actually showed his restraint not a lack of control. If he’d used full force, that single hand blow would have taken you out. Yet they also delivered dexterity in his work, accuracy and reliability. Those hands performed small engineering miracles. Then raised glass on glass of alcohol to numb his exhausted body, his sad mind. In death, they rested upon his chest - the first and only time I’ve seen them peaceful.

My own hands have been clasped in beseeching prayer too many times. They’ve wrapped presents and tied bows. Written letters, stories, diaries and played with clay. Painted walls, pictures, my face. Collected shells, pebbles, cones … caressed a man and the soft neck of a dog.

Think for a moment of your own hands. Take a second to pour admiration over the blemished skin on the back of your hands. Bless the palms, their lines and callouses. Flex your fingers in a curl and a stretch. Think of the times they’ve lathered soap to wash you, held an infant to your chest, cradled a hot cup of tea on a cold day or pushed the key into the ignition and go….folded washing, laid tables, stroked a keyboard, strummed a guitar or banged a drum. Who has not blown a kiss?

I lifted my book back up to begin again the chapter, after making a silent ‘thank you’. Pretty sure you have your own list of hand life moments. The lines of mine are deep etched as the lacework of my life and I love them. They tell my story. Play the video of your hands in your mind, allow the grace of them to wash over you, use them to make things better. Till the next time.

A