The hands now resting on her lap had traveled many paths. Her hands were not those of a painter, or artist, or craftsman, but they performed tasks of equal or greater value.

She took her sweetheart’s hand in marriage and soon the hand of the first child. Simple tasks multiplied with additional children. She had to stretch meals, stitch tears, patch holes, and adjust hems, to pass clothes down from one child to another. When alone, she read books to escape the pressures of the day and to bring her comfort. But her soft touch was always there to steady each child when needed.

Tiredness embedded in lines and crevices of her hands, and joints were often painful. Her hands struggled to write, turn pages, open jars, grab a handrail, or a walker. Worse yet, she could not hold the hands of her partner. His hands once offered her love, comfort, and guidance, but he was gone.  

Over one hundred, she continues to write words of encouragement to her children and grandchildren. Her hands still work the crossword puzzles, make the coffee, and pick up the needed medication. Instead of turning pages, her hands hold a Kindle and her fingers slide across the screen to read stories of places she never traveled and people she has never met.

Pray that she will one day hold the nail-scarred hands of Jesus as her Savior and Lord. 

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

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