I was studying the markings on my hands the other day, as I was deep in thought. I thought about how fast 34 years of life, has literally disappeared before my eyes! I noticed scars, freckles, veins, the odd shape of my fingernails and even a modicum of age marks, becoming more visible each day. I was a bit bothered at the unsightly marks, until I began to remember all the things that these hands have been through....some good.....some bad.
My hands are invisibly tattooed, with my life's circumstantial story written upon them. Although it is written so boldly and brightly, with fine detail, it cannot be translated by others. The story is of my life, enriched with enthusiasm, tenderness, care, love, hate, anger, sadness, regret, giving & sharing(just to mention a few). My story can only truly and precisely be read and translated by me, for I am the only one that sees my map of life, etched upon my flesh, through the same lenses that were given to my soul. I know and remember very keenly, my road, well traveled.
The story that is upon these hands, begins with a childhood full of many fond memories and many not so good ones. The fond ones consist of games, vacations, laughter, playing and loving. My childhood, according to the story upon my hands, was one of adventure and athleticism. I remember being very active in all sports and quite frankly, I was very coordinated with these hands. I loved action and adventure and was always up for trying anything. The bad memories need not be told, for often times, I was pushed beyond my limit and proceeded to do things, that I wish I could erase.
I remember vividly, the chapter of high school. That chapter will forever remain written all over my knuckles. My hands were indeed requisite, for the passion that I carried in my soul, for playing basketball. The feel of the ball on my fingertips, was like a drug injected intravenously. It gave me the drive to excel. The sound of the ball on the court, still echoes within my frame. This chapter, is by far the most missed and dreamt of, but the remainders of many swollen knuckles, are ever so present.
Somewhere around chapter six, is where the love rolls in. My hands, for the very first time, held ever so gently, a brand new baby girl. I remember the heavenly cheeks and arms that my fingertips couldn't get enough of, as I stroked Madison's air deprived skin. My fingers had never beheld such preciousness and innocence. Three times again, I had the privilege to relive the feeling of newborn skin, on my fingertips. I liken it to holding God's hand and being in His presence. The touch cannot be explained to those who have never experienced it. It is however, remembered by my two hands, that beheld those heavenly digits. That feeling, is something that will never be forgotten and is still imprinted ever so vividly, on and in my hands.
My story continues still to this very day, with new and exciting chapters being locked away & tucked beneath my flesh. I am thankful for my sense of "touch", as it has allowed me to write a story upon my hands. I now have a map, of which I can mentally trace back to those impressing moments and again, drive down memory lane, without getting lost. I get to relive what was written so long ago, with love and passion.
I thank my Heavenly Father for every freckle, scar, age mark, strangely shaped fingernail, swollen knuckle and veins that protrude. I am ever so grateful for the story, written on my hands.
