With These Hands. . . love. . . gratitude. . .


To Use These Hands. . . . from another time. . .

As dawn breaks, my fingers of both hands curl about each other and I marvel at their slimness, their ability to elicit the feel of themselves, each digit wrapped around the other.

And I think that nothing, no other world will ever make me feel such blessedness as my hands’ ability to do so many things over the course of this life.   To kneading bread, to winding the yarn, to smoothing the brow of my very sick child and have him tell me later that it helped him sleep. Everything I touch holds a lesson for me.

The square inch of soil I spooned with young hands yielded secrets kept from generations. The eyes of a child as my hands embrace young shoulders tells me what went into their ancient heritage. And I grasp their hands in mine and convey my love by touch.

I would use these hands to mold and make and set trends never before thought. I see the beauty of the great god in the blending of these human genes and see the  perfect Adam and perfect Eve emerging and see the virtue in the making and the doing of the homely tasks that will start the holy process once again.

And I will open my arms and spread my hands to grasp the youngest by my hip and be grateful for hands that show how very much I love on this planet called Earth

My input to date. . .July 13, 2022. . . .I was unprepared for what these last years would bring.  There was no hint of not being able to do with my hands what I loved doing.  But the accumulation of physical work which was a palliative for the emotional turmoil brought on by many variables, has given me too much time with regretful, ‘I should not have allowed’  whatever dotage has brought me.

Even the simple task of grasping a spoon or scissors, grits the teeth, coupled with a half dozen other auto immune deficiencies science has uncovered.  It is not easy to allow Nature its qualities to cease and heal.  She shouts in my house, enough already!  Time to let go and be. 

My head has not gotten the message.  It still is in gear.  We will continue to argue but we both know she has the heavier clout.

But who was the teacher who said, ‘do and you will be shown how’?  I did and do and now I am reminded not to forget my bread recipe when I arrive.


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2 responses to “With These Hands. . . love. . . gratitude. . .”

  1. email from Maria W. . .

    I tried to leave this comment on your blog, But it wouldn’t go through. But I want you to know that I’m moved by how you write with such honesty about where you are in your life. It’s brave and inspiring to me. As is your acceptance even when frustrated with your own body. Reading it is cleansing, like pure air.
    So thank you. Love Maria

  2. Maria, thank you for persisting when my blog balked. There are things not able to fix immediately. I depend greatly on words to feed my soulstuffs because with a failing body, it is what has been the substance of who I am. But with global unrest, life is too much on our plates. Your words lifted my spirit immensely. I take heart when my thinking does connect. Thank you again. veronica

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