Day 11: Holding Hands
I was sitting at the kitchen table with our daughter, Brooke. She is the youngest of the four Booram kids. Brooke has always been tiny—even from birth. She was born a month early and weighed barely 6 pounds. Her whole life, she has maintained a petite stature. Today, I was noticing her small, thin hands. They are beautiful—diminutive, smooth and feminine. I love to hold them.
I know Brooke’s hands so well that I am confident I could pick them out in a crowd of hands! The same with David’s. His are smallish, sturdy and strong. The tips of his fingers are thick and flat—good for guitar playing and creating art. I love to hold his hands. One of the simplest pleasures in my life is walking, hand in hand, with him.
My dad had wonderful hands, too. Course hair covered the top but the underneath was very smooth. He had capable hands. He used them to build things and to pinch my knees when I sat next to him. I always loved to hold my dad’s hands.
Then there's my grandson, Eli's hands. Chubby and little and sweet. He wraps his hands around my pointer finger--that's how we hold hands.
I love hands. They are remarkable. Each pair has distinguishing features that belong to the individual with whom they are attached. Hands have character. Maybe that's why holding hands feels so intimate.
Questions for spiritual direction:
What do you learn about yourself when you look at your hands?
How do you picture God's hands?
How can you be held in his hands?