I have been thinking about hands a lot lately and so if you’ve caught me staring at yours, hopefully this explains a few things.  Hands are such an amazingly accurate extension of our souls.  If you watch someones hands for a while, you’ll come away knowing them deeper.  I would like to make a photo collage using the hands of my favorite people, those hands that love, that serve, that comfort and caress.  If you were to look, you’d realize that the hands of those you love match the soul they are connected to.

The other evening I sat in bed trying to piece together everything that my hands had done that day.  They cooked for and fed my family, played patty cake, changed diapers, sewed gifts, typed messages, wiped tears, and wrapped presents.  They also expressed my emotions: they clenched in anger, were flung up in frustration, and they twiddled in impatience.  They didn’t always do what they should have done, but they never stopping doing something.  After surveying all my hands has done, the one thing that continued to astonish me was that they never. stopped. moving.

I am not one for idle hands, and even when we sit down to catch up on our DVR stuff at the end of the day, I will Facebook, text, email, crochet, fold laundry or play angry birds.  My soul is barely capable of idle hands, it’s almost itchy to my spirit. I wonder whats inside of me that can’t stop?  With all the flurry of motion that my 10 digits engage in, what exactly am I trying to avoid?  There is something deep inside me that continues to remind me that I am not a machine called to endlessly produce, and that all this production is thinning my existence.  I’m either too tired or too distracted to drink deeply of the beauty that overflows the cup of my life.

 My hands are dry, and my knuckles have little cuts from the constant motion, a few of my fingertips are burned, and my nails are sort of gross and embarrassing.  I feel like they sort of match they way I feel inside after a day or a week of “too much.”

When I don’t rest my hands, chances are I’m not doing much to rest my soul either.  While the world around me insists on demanding more, there is a voice inside me that calls me to less.  Less Leanne, less, yet infinitely more.  Stop, look, breathe, and for the LOVE OF GOD… listen.

 My daughter has gotten skilled at different techniques or leading me away from my chores and distractions.  She usually leads me to the couch or the playroom and when I bring my iPhone with, she pushes it down and demands my full presence with her.  I’m proud of her for realizing her need for connection, a little embarrassed that at 2.5 she needs to be that sneaky about it, and also astonished that the little ones seem to get it, when we older ones miss it.  And miss it…again and again and again.

Can we find rest for our hands and our souls?  Can we engage ourselves in more moments that moisturize our dry souls?  Can we led peace heals the cracks?  I have to believe that we can, and that when we do, it will be like someone turned the brightness up on our often faded lives.  We were notice, we will see, we will breathe and we will just be.

Father lead us, teach us, shock us and show us how you call us to live, with each other and for you.  Remind us that you cherish us too much to watch us dance endlessly.  Teach us to rest in you.

  • Ruth A. Verkaik

    Love this post! It is so true – HANDS tell the story. I love my mom’s hands – she is 90+ and I sit w/ her and hold her boney, cold, soft hands and my mind goes back to all she has done! Then at the cross I think of the nail pierced hands of Jesus that tell a story – His hands are a big part of my story! Love you Leanne

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