These Hands

These hands were once small enough to fit wholly in the palm of a parent.

These hands are large enough to hold a human grief.

They have, in their time, cradled an infant, a cell-phone,

and a quick drink of cold water from the tap.

They have wiped noses, changed diapers, and made countless beds.

They have tilled the soil, typed memos, and sent email on-line.

They have poured coffee at 3 am for friends.

They have been known to strike a face, to pound a door in frustration, to wave someone away and to express a point with all five fingers spread defiantly.

They have written checks and counted change,

pumped gas, and braided hair.

Opening, they have received countless gifts.

Closing, they have expressed unwillingness and resistance.

Raised, they have asked questions and expressed praise,

Lowered, they have given voice to calm and understanding.

Aged, these hands have become bent with arthritis,

and wrinkled with age spots.

They are lined with the years of living, loving, learning, and leaning.

Calloused with hard, honest, and hopeful labour,

They are soiled with mistakes and grievances,

and

washed clean with grace.

They bear the utterly unique fingerprints of a soul.

These hands have raised a glass, paid bills, and put down roots,

written love notes and lifted burdens,

massaged

aching

backs,

carried casseroles, picked flowers

by the side of the road,

gathered honey,

and made music with their movement.

They have been cold with anxiety,

hot with hormones,

They’ve even been known to bleed, sweat,

and even tremble on occasion.

They’ve given up everything

and they have opened empty.

They’ve steered vehicles and guided missiles,

written legislation and worn wedding bands,

They’ve turned pages, flipped pancakes,

and held a spouse

in his or her dying breath.

They have made sandcastles and gathered seashells,

clapped with delight, and broken things.

They’ve been soapy, smelly, scaly, and, at times, savage.

They’ve been driven by desire

and restrained by reflection.

They have humbled themselves

in prayer.

And while capable of evading responsibility as Pilate once did,

and of needing cleansing as Lady Macbeth

for pre-meditated acts,

These hands are both inexpressibly human,

and irrevocably holy.

For these hands are yours—

given to you by our Creator:

to serve, to bless, and to love.

Use them, use them well.

© Rev. Dee Ledger, 2009