I have a slight obsession with
checking out people’s hands. There, I
said it. It’s weird and perhaps socially
unacceptable, but I can’t help it. I
love to look at hands. They say so much
about someone. A man’s calloused hands
and dirt laced fingernails might suggest that he works hard for his family,
putting in long hours at his blue-collar job.
A woman’s perfectly manicured, soft hands may say that she is particular
about her appearance and takes good care of herself. A child’s sticky, Play-Doh scented hands say,
“I’m a kid. I’ve been playing all day
and I don’t have a care in the world.”
There are two pairs of hands that I’m very familiar with; hands that
I’ve seen work, play, and serve others my entire life. They are the hands of my sisters.
My sister, Jessica, is six years
older than I. She was like my second mom
when we were growing up. I always loved
her hands. She has long, piano-player
fingers and beautiful fingernails. Her
hands were always so gentle with me, whether she was braiding my hair or
hugging me, her hands brought me comfort.
I always wanted my hands to look like hers, smooth and flawless. Now as an adult, I see past the physical
appearance of her hands and I see how she uses them to serve those around her. Jessica’s hands work tirelessly raising her
three children all on her own. Her hands
rise early in the day and don’t rest until late at night. Her hands take care of other people’s
children all day in her career as a teacher.
They are calm and kind hands that don’t become easily irritated but have
the patience of Job. Her hands comfort
crying children and are always there for a certain little sister :) They are hands that can cook, clean, and
single-handedly run a household. They
are hands that I’m sure feel as if sometimes they are running out of steam, but
they are hands that keep going, because they have no choice. They are hands that I hope and pray a sweet,
loving man holds in his someday and thanks the Lord for this precious woman by
his side. Jessica’s hands are hands that
deserve a man’s respect and adoration for all they have done and for all they
continue to do. Her hands should be
admired for being delicate and graceful, but should be regarded for their
strength and resilience that is below the surface.
My sister, Meri, is older than me by
three years. Meri’s hands are physically
the opposite of Jessica’s. They are small and square, like mine, but her hands
are nothing short of beautiful because of what you can’t see. Her hands held
mine when we were little girls, playing house or when she was reading to
me. Her hands threw a pretty mean punch
when we were in high school…but only when absolutely necessary :) Meri’s hands wiped the sweat from my forehead
and fed me ice chips when I was in labor with my fourth baby. Her hands wiped the tears away from my face
when being in labor with said baby was almost too much pain to bear. I saw Meri’s hands comfort others when she
buried her first husband, when it was our hands that should’ve been comforting
her. Her resolve was so great to attempt
to heal from that tragedy, and I watched those small hands pick up the pieces
of a broken life and rebuild a new one.
Her hands found love again and are now held tightly by the one who loves
and adores her ‘til death do them part.
Meri’s hands serve others in every way they can. Whether she’s reaching in her purse to give
out a piece of gum, baking someone a wedding cake, or bringing a meal to
someone in need, Meri’s capable hands are always taking care of those around
her. Those hands have seen the depths of heartbreak, yet refused to allow any
circumstances to keep her down. With
every valley those hands have fallen in to, they have clawed their way back up
to the peak and dared anyone to stand in their way on the journey upwards.
I love my sisters and the examples
they have been to me. They continuously
do for others, no matter how tired they may be.
Their hands live to serve and I can’t help but think their hands are not
theirs alone, but the hands of Jesus.
