Friday, September 16, 2011

Love-ly Hands

Hands.  I love hands. I think hands can speak volumes about a person's life - especially the elderly.  I like to ponder about the being connected to the hands. Are they a pencil pusher, a gardener, or construction worker? What secrets do they hold? How old are they really? Whose life did those hands help to mold? Do they do kind deeds?

My face may not show my age, but my hands sure do. I look down at my spread-eagle fingers...sigh. Loose skin, protruding veins, and thin bones crisscross the back of my hands like an old worn map. But, the signs of aging is not my concern.  My hands remind me of a time in my life when they were used as tools of punishment instead of instruments of love. Now, as one who has changed much and finally matured, my hands are used so differently - giving and loving, touching with Love's tenderness. But, sometimes in quiet moments I look down at my well-worn hands, and memories of past deeds trigger. I wonder if my hands reveal my secrets to those who may also ponder. I know I am forgiven and I have forgiven myself.  But, memories still creep into my soul like an unwanted weed that pushes its way up through the soil of my mind when I least expect it.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.  Every now and then my oldest son, Michael, will softly brush his fingers over the top of my hands.  It's a loving gesture and I so enjoy his touch. One day as he sat next to me caressing my hand he asked me, "Do you know that I love your hands?"

"You do?!" I was genuinely surprised. As I examined my hands, memories twirled in my mind.

"I really do, Mom."

His gentleness and love-filled eyes melted my heart. Hands that were once cruel to him at a young age, Michael now loves. He enjoys the feel of my hands.  He looks at them differently now - just as Christians look upon The Cross as an oriflamme of love instead of the torturous, death device that it was. He, obviously, ponders something very different about my hands and the person attached to the hands, than I do. I thank God for that!  Such is the power of forgiveness, such is the power of love.

I'd love to hear any "hand" stories you may have.

Because of Him and Unto Him

5 comments:

wordglow said...

Beautifully written, Diane. You are blessed to have a son who sees love in your hands... As far as my "hand story," you already know my story about my Grandma's hands...:)

Pam

Diane said...

Oh, yes...what a beautiful post that was! I do feel blessed - that he has forgiven me.

Lolita said...

This post mists my eyes, Diane. I too am a loving grandma but looking back my mother years, I certainly had moments that I used my hands to spank. Pondering more intently, there were moments too that it was used more out of anger rather than loving discipline. When I was younger there were those times I gave in to frustrations.

Being a grandma who lives closely to some of my grand kids, I often get requests, from one particular grandson who is asthmatic, for a massage. I know that he needs one even just by sitting close to me and cough a little. The other night he was coughing a little more insistently that I motioned him to come over and lie down on the sofa beside me. I was watching my favourite soap on TV and he is always timid to vocalise his request thinking that I was tired from work at the office. Even if I am a little tired, I always love to massage his back until he fells asleep.

I am tempted to believe that there is truth in the idea that grandparents do spoil their grand children while we were sterner at our own kids back then.

Going back to pondering upon what my hands have done with my own kids..... I do appreciate your claim of forgiveness, Diane, I want to claim it too. I have lefted it up to Jesus back then when I was on my road to "Damascus."

Lolita said...

P.S.

pardon some words mispelled particularly "lefted up" which should be lifted up.

Sorry also for the novel of a comment I wrote, Diane.

Diane Ronzino said...

Lolita, I'm sure I've had misspelled words. We don't always catch them. Please don't feel your writing need sto be perfect to share with us. Mine certainly isn't.

And I asked you to share your hand story. "Novels" may be long but well worth the read. I so appreciate you taking the time to read and write. Thank you for sharing so openly and from your heart.

I'm so glad you left with Jesus on your Damascus Road! Good for you...all is forgiven.

And someday, I'd like to hear your Damascus Road experience. I have one too!

I am blessed by you, Lolita!