A Hand Model? Nope.....

One can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands.  But you would be wrong, in MY case.  I haven't worked in a mine, haven't spent a lifetime washing dishes (we've been blessed with a dishwasher) and I'm not a carpenter.  I just have unattractive old hands.  They're disproportionately small for the rest of my body, with short stubby fingers, and have not been very pampered...unless you count the fake nails that have graced them, off and on,  through the years.  (Looking back, that was kind of "like putting earrings on a pig".)  So you get it.  My hands would never make it as a hand model.

I remember, as a kid, how firmly my Dad would hold my hand, when we were crossing streets.  He had a strong grip and made me feel safe.  I remember Mom's hand on my forehead when I wasn't feeling well. Her touch made me feel loved.   I remember getting bopped by one of their hands when I used the word "crap" - a grievous sin back then - (but, boy!  They should hear me NOW!). I used to tease my Mom about her hands not being real pretty...shame on me...mine have surpassed hers, in the "old looking" category...and she's 90!

But I shouldn't complain.  My hands have held babies, caressed the same face for almost 42 years, been shook by some wonderful folks.  They've  prepared countless meals, have patted the backs of some remarkable people, and have done some good work. They've been folded in prayer for big miracles and small ones.

Yep...My hands have served me well so far...and I hope they have many more prayers in 'em.