Ode to Old Hands

As we age, parts of our body seem only to remind us of our loss of youth. However, the memories and experiences remind us while we may have lost our youth, we've gained a lot of life.

My daughter stretched the skin of the back of my hand so it looked smooth. What my hands used to look like, I thought. And yet, it made me see age spots whose appearance I had somehow missed. She put her young hand next to my old hand–a stark reminder of my age–but as I almost began loathing my old hands, I stopped myself–these old hands have done a lot for me.

They’ve held babies and changed diapers. They’ve cleaned houses. They have typed countless words on a computer and written some on notepads too. They have planted gardens, trimmed hedges, pushed a lawnmower. They have washed dishes and pots. They have climbed rock walls and counted waitressing tips.

They have cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for me or for a crowd. They have built sleepover tents and have swept floors. These hands have painted walls, swingsets and pictures. They have taken pictures with cameras. They have helped me count numerous times. 

These hands have driven me to church, to the shore, to college and to vacations. They have stuffed nametags and put up banners. These hands have mailed packages and designed flyers. My old hands have dialed phone numbers and typed texts, some good, others not so good. 

These hands have peeled oranges and hammered nails. They have screened ditches and tossed footballs. They have scratched backs and clapped for my children at games and performances. These hands have turned in tickets and gripped roller coaster bars.

These hands have grabbed diplomas. They’ve played piano, hand bells and guitar.

They have baked countless cakes, cookies, pies and cupcakes. They have built sandcastles. They have pulled hair into ponytails, french braids, and buns. They have played board games and card games.

These hands have pushed strollers, children on swings and elderly in wheelchairs. They have carried boxes and bags and furniture. They have brushed my teeth for years. These hands have massaged a sore muscle and have smoothed out countless sheets, not to mention the loads of laundry folded.

They have prayed prayers and received Jesus. They have given the sign of peace. These hands have been extended in praise and worship. They have held countless rosaries and books. They have been dipped in holy water and made the sign of the cross.

These old hands have grasped so many other hands, young, old and everywhere in between–in love, friendship, sorrow, and unity. They have wiped tears from both sorrow and joy. They have received rings as a promise and have given rings in return.

I love these old hands. They hold a lifetime of memories which they helped me build—much more than I have time to mention.

Thank you, God, for my hands. May we never take them for granted.