Old Hands

OLD HANDS

When my son was little, we were at church one day and he said, "Mom, Bro. Port is really old."  I asked him, "Why do you say that?"  And he replied, "Because he has old hands."

I stopped for a moment to consider this brother's hands.  They were wrinkled, and his fingers were a little twisted.  His hands were weathered, with some age spots.  I looked down at my own hands.  They were smooth, creamy... young.  I thought about the difference in our ages, lives, experiences.  He might have had "old hands" but they were kind, and the wisdom he had was something to seek after.  I hoped that one day when I had old hands that I might have a quarter of that wisdom.

When my dad was still alive, I noticed his hands many times after that instance. His hands were tanned, strong, steady, and kind.  As the years passed, I noticed the age spots begin to creep in.  As Dad got sick, I noticed the tanned hands were pale.  The strong hands were weak.  The steady hands were shaking.  But they were always kind and that wisdom... he had it.  Again, something to strive for in my life.

I posted a picture on Facebook tonight.  I wasn't happy to discover that my hands have age spots on them.  I considered them and I thought, "They are tan.  They are strong.  They are steady.  But are they kind?  Do I have wisdom?"

I'm going to try to be happy with my "old hands".  If they get pale, okay.  If they get weak, alright.  If they get shaky, so be it.  I'm going to worry about the important things instead.  I'm going to strive for kindness, and for wisdom. I think we need more of both in this world.