Hands

Hands
Our hands do so much and they are unique to each person. I don’t just mean because of our hand lines or gen codes. They are unique i what they do. My nana had hands that were often found playing the organ, crocheting or holding a cup of hot tea. My dad’s hands are usually found doing the work I don’t want to do like cleaning the barn, they can also be found gripping a tennis raquet or an old book. Mom’s hands are always working, dishes, laundry, meals and not just for her own household; they are also happy holding a hot cup of tea or a good book, but are happiest in the dirt of the garden or trimming flowers. Poppa’s hands are always covered in dirt from working in his shop or with his welder, that’s when they aren’t hugging his Bible or typing up sermons. My dog’s paws are even unique to him, not many dog toes are found in kayaks and climbing through hay bales. Our hands speak of our personalities, hobbies and jobs. They speak of our passions and what we love and who we love- my hands are often covered in animal hair because they are often touching my dog or horse, so they say, ‘yep, she’s nuts about her fur family.’
Jesus’s hands told His story too, they still do. Hard and calloused from His work as a carpenter and His time tenting during His ministry. Yet gentle enough that a colt would let Him touch him. Strong enough to lift a hammer, soft enough to be pierced by a nail. If Jesus stood before you and held out His hand you would know it was Him instantly because no one else would have His scars. Funny how everyone in Heaven is healed, except Jesus; His wounds remain as a reminder to us of His passion, job, personality, what He loves and who He loves. We are all in His hands.