Hands…..

Hands….is dedicated to my Aunt Irene Suderman Seibel, in all love.

My Aunt Irene is the ‘little’ sister of my Mom. To be in her presence brings back memories of childhood through her voice, through her faith in God, and her serving hands that are never idle. Last week she wrote (in l

ong hand) that if she were to write a blog, it would be about hands. God looks at the heart, and yet, if one looks at the hands, they see the heart of a person that God sees. Aunt Irene looks at the hands of a person first. How unusual, I thought. Since then I have studied hands. When Aunt Irene was a child, she visited a neighbor lady o borrow something. The neighbor held Aunt Irene’s hands and showed her the dimples and then compared her own knuckles. Aunt Irene was surprised at the difference. Years later Aunt Irene’s oldest son looked at her hands and said, “I always liked to feel Grandma’s wrinkles in her hands and those blue veins. Now your hands look like that.”

Aunt Irene related the story of her last sister-in-law who recently died. As Aunt Irene viewed her in death, gray hair combed just right and wearing the green lace 50th wedding anniversary dress. As Aunt Irene’s eyes searched for her sister-in-law’s hands, she saw that they were covered by green lace. She wondered, “Why?”

This letter began a series of thoughts about hands. Yesterday I visited a 92 year old lady. I looked at her hands, and commented how beautiful they are. Hands tell a story. Hands are a testimony of one’s heart and life. Hands can be used for devious deeds or for acts of kindness. Hands can dishonor our God or glorify His Name. It is our choice.

There is nothing as enchanting as watching a baby explore his hands. He seems so delighted and fascinated his hands. He learns to grasp his mother’s finger, and then learns to feed himself. The tiny hands learn to hold a writing tool. First he learns to write his name and then to communicate thoughts that reveal his heart. I reme

mber the hands of my granddaughter lifted up to me, wanting my attention. Did I

turn away? No, I pulled her to me. Her tiny hands conveyed her need to be loved to me. (Even as our raised arms convey to God, our need for His Love!)

All through our lives to the moment of death, we long for the touch of someone’s hand. We long to be loved, comforted by a hug and the nearness of a human. Is it because we are made in the image of God and we long for the nearness of Him who created us? It is a deep hunger of love that deforms us inside when it is denied.

The image of the hands of my parents flashes into my mind. I see the work-roughened stubby hands of my Dad – that extended discipline and love equally with tears and laughter. I see the serving hands of Mom. I hear her playing and teaching piano, planting a vegetable/flower garden with Dad, choosing a bouquet and arranging it for a sick friend. Writing poem after article after story after song with much prayer. I see her sitting at the treadle Singer Sewing machine with little ones beside her, sewing clothing for her own and others. I see her painting pictures and murals, canning and baking bread. I remember her cool, calming and gentle hand on my forehead when I was feverish and building wooden beds, desks and once a plane for a play. Dad and Mom knew how to ‘make-do’ using what they had to create something new.

Why is it that in a wedding, hands are joined to symbolize love and unity? Why is it that at the beginning of a new life, the thrill of holding the baby in your hands is indescribable? Why is it that in death, holding the hand of the dying loved one fills both with comfort? Why is it that encouragement, comfort, kindness, love, gentleness (fruit of the spirit) is expressed eloquently without words, with just a touch?

When I gave a piano lesson to a teen recently, we compared hands. Hers were smooth and soft. Mine show the blue veins and the bones through the thin skin of old age. A 4 year old friend and I compared hands. Ben Riley’s hands are soft and dimpled. He delights in pinching the skin on the back of my hand to see it stay ‘pinched’ for a bit and trues to do the same with his hand. So long ago, my GrosMom Siemens taught me the same thing with her hands. Then Ben Riley asked why I had brown spots on my hand. I replied that older people get these. In all seriousness Ben Riley commented, “Old people die.” God gave me the answer – “Yes, and isn’t it great? I’ll soon be moving in with Jesus!” (John 14)

My thoughts then spotlighted the ministry of Jesus – through His Hands. His hands exemplified love and sacrifice. His hands served others, healed, gave hope and encouragement, comforted while here on earth. His final gift from his hands was to be nailed to the cross. The heart of Jesus was broken by our sins – of all mankind – through all ages – and His hands held the marks of His sacrifice from His heart when He talked to Thomas.

Mark 8:25 – Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.

Mark 10:16 – And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

Luke 13:13 – Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God.

I look again at my hands and weep when I am reminded of the times my heart held anger or sinful thoughts that were transmitted by my hands. I pray for forgiveness and renew my walk with my Lord each day. May my hands be used for Him, and show His heart of love and sacrifice. Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place. Psalm 28:2