Story of my Hands

Have you ever thought about how incredible hands are?

Almost every moment of every day, hands are bombarded with endless tasks. We reach out instinctively; opening, holding, grasping, catching, all without ever thinking about the tool we are using. Our hands are used for basically everything and yet how rarely we notice them.

A friend of mine, who is excellent at noticing the underappreciated, recently wrote a poem dedicated to hands. She noted their ability to tell stories, an interesting attribute to think about.

Though it takes some observation, you really can tell a lot about a person by their hands. The palms of a gardener are going to look different than those of a pianist. A sailor's hands are different from the lawyers. Thinking about it, part of what defines the story of a hand is the task it is used for most often.

The task of my hands has been brought up in my mind bit by bit in the past few weeks. My realization hit while I was standing in a worship service, singing along to the lyrics on the screen.

Standing there, I wanted so badly to sign as I sang. I have been learning ASL and I wanted to put my knowledge to use. Unfortunately, I only knew a few words here and there. In that moment, I thought to myself, "One day I'll praise God with these hands."

No sooner had the thought finished than the next one formed, "Why wait?" I realized that though I wasn't ready to sign every word to the songs, there are so much many other ways I can use my hands to worship God.

I realized I want to use my hands to create. Making something-a painting, a carving, a piece of furniture- brings me so much satisfaction and I realized I want to make something lasting that will glorify God.

I want to use my hands to communicate. Not just with sign language, but with writing and typing, I want my hands to be the filter through which I funnel my words and express truth.

I want to use my hands to serve God. In everything I do, every action and motion, I want to give Him the glory.

So standing in that worship service, I held my hands out, palms facing up. Those hands held out as I sing are now my reminder that everything I do, I want to be for Him.

I want the tasks that define the story written on my hands to be actions of service and surrender.

What story will your hands hold?

Simple

Something that I am slowly learning about myself is that I like things that are simple.

I like walking barefoot over stone and feeling that the ground is firm beneath me; stretching my toes out against the hardness and knowing that what I stand on is solid.

Things that are sure, things that are sound appeal to me. I prefer steps carved into the earth with layers of dirt packed beneath them rather than metal stairs suspended in the air held by nothing but steel poles.

I like things that are steady. In my eyes, the covered bridge that hasn't moved in years is much better than the suspension bridge that sways in the wind and tremors with footfall.

Things that are tangible, that can be taken at face value are what I need. Though I enjoy metaphors and riddles and listening to complex topics, my mind is far better suited to discussing the more normal, everyday ideas.

I prefer the ordinary to the extraordinary; because in my eyes, there is so much extraordinary to be found in the small, daily concepts that I have no need to delve into the deeper realms of intellect.

I like warm rain and wet grass.

Blue jeans and sneakers are always my first choice.

I like mountain views and windy days.

Give me a pencil and paper and I'll be happy.

I like good books with a hot cup of tea.

I could sit and study the dandelion for hours.

See, it's the small things that I love. The little ordinary bits of life make me smile, make me laugh.

I like things that are simple.