Hands
It was a hunt for a darling knitting pattern that first got my hands on an issue of Taproot magazine. I've handled almost every issue now, a year later. And you know what really solidified my love for the pages, the section that is simply entitled, hands. It eludes to handwork, which is a love for me, but also, just to acknowledge the simple necessity.
It's sort of a nervous admission to say that I've always had an affinity for hands. When I'm feeling overwhelmed or a bit spent on this journey of life I just look down at my own and see my story. So then I find myself noticing the hands of the ones around me. The farmer, the mother, the banker and the little dirty ones that I am helping shape.
In my own hands, the ones I feel proud of, the ones that look so beautiful to me, I see the days I was young and my love told me he liked my hands, my long skinny fingers. I see them holding my first born and how they went from clerical work to mothering in an abrupt early arrival over a 24 hour period. When I had two little boys, there was one for each to hold on walks. I see these hands of mine fishing the Kenai peninsula and catching a 29 pound salmon around a full term pregnant belly and just weeks later wrapped around my family of 3 robust boys. And then two short months later, they desperately tried to save my infant son as he slipped from my grasp into the spirit side. Those were the days I could have cut them from myself. They were useless and felt like dead weight, to go from nurturing an infant to nothing in a moment is an empty hand I wish on no one. I see these hands then rising with fiber interlaced to find life again, new life. Mine then blessed to hold another new babe, a beautiful rainbow girl. As if that wasn't enough swing to the pendulum, then came the busiest job for these two hands of mine, raising twins and their three amazing siblings.
Those are just the most significant moments, right? In between those most memorable times are the dishes, the knitting, the laundry, the garden, the back rubs and hugs, the sewing, the hunting and hiking and fishing, and it took these strong yet delicate hands to do all of it. I owe them a debt of gratitude for making me who I am.
I've heard the old adage that the eyes are a window to the soul, and while I've got some beauties in my life, I'd rather take a look at some hands.
It's sort of a nervous admission to say that I've always had an affinity for hands. When I'm feeling overwhelmed or a bit spent on this journey of life I just look down at my own and see my story. So then I find myself noticing the hands of the ones around me. The farmer, the mother, the banker and the little dirty ones that I am helping shape.
In my own hands, the ones I feel proud of, the ones that look so beautiful to me, I see the days I was young and my love told me he liked my hands, my long skinny fingers. I see them holding my first born and how they went from clerical work to mothering in an abrupt early arrival over a 24 hour period. When I had two little boys, there was one for each to hold on walks. I see these hands of mine fishing the Kenai peninsula and catching a 29 pound salmon around a full term pregnant belly and just weeks later wrapped around my family of 3 robust boys. And then two short months later, they desperately tried to save my infant son as he slipped from my grasp into the spirit side. Those were the days I could have cut them from myself. They were useless and felt like dead weight, to go from nurturing an infant to nothing in a moment is an empty hand I wish on no one. I see these hands then rising with fiber interlaced to find life again, new life. Mine then blessed to hold another new babe, a beautiful rainbow girl. As if that wasn't enough swing to the pendulum, then came the busiest job for these two hands of mine, raising twins and their three amazing siblings.
Those are just the most significant moments, right? In between those most memorable times are the dishes, the knitting, the laundry, the garden, the back rubs and hugs, the sewing, the hunting and hiking and fishing, and it took these strong yet delicate hands to do all of it. I owe them a debt of gratitude for making me who I am.
I've heard the old adage that the eyes are a window to the soul, and while I've got some beauties in my life, I'd rather take a look at some hands.
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