Hands

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

     You can tell a lot by looking at a person's hands. Man or women. 

My mother's hands were old and wrinkled. Considering she lived to be 90. But they started looking like that way earlier. They were always busy. Making homemade dough for Runzas that fed and army of 7. There was no stain on that tablecloth or shirt, that didn't come out. She scrubbed till her fingers were tired. She washed those clothes and ironed those shirts and made that perfect crease in those pants. Even if they were just jeans.

     My father's hands were smooth as butter because his "forte" was calculating and typing. He was the best businessman, bookkeeper and completer of all bills and important documents. An artist and a singer, his voice was as smooth as his hands.

     I love rough hands. Not that I didn't love holding daddy's hand, but the rough hands meant that something was built or a job containing physical work. I imagine Saint Joseph's hands were quite rough. Being a carpenter, therefore, learning the trade His Foster Father taught Him, Jesus' hands were rough too.

     I believe our Mother Mary's hands were in between soft looking and rough. Making them perfect. Able to cradle and hold a sweet baby and able to pound that wheat to make bread.

     Hands, like eyes, are visible signs of the background of that person. Musicians have those rough callused palms and tips of their fingers from playing that instrument constantly. Perfecting that melody, time after time.

     Doctor's hands are usually soft looking, even though the "feats" they perform may be tedious and miraculous.

     Hands. This once again amazing feature our Lord created when He created man. How awesome is God!? I feel sad when I see someone without them and immediately thank God for mine. Although, I must say, the years have weathered my own. My hands are rough. Just like how rough some parts of my life have been. Just like how rough life has been for a lot of people.

     Looking and thinking about a person's life through their hands helps me step back and think. Lots of times I'm too fast to judge a person. Not thinking what they might be going through or have gone through. I pray for the grace to stop and step away more and not snap at the slightest disarray of my day. Things get moving so fast sometimes I can hardly keep up.

     I hope that when I die and people come up to my coffin they see those old crumpled, aged hands gripping tight onto my sweet rosary and think, "She was a hard worker....who loved God".