TITLE: My Hands 9/29/2012
By Winnie Kaetzel
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But now they are wrinkled and highlighted with visible arteries.
Though still strong, they don't grip as well as they once did.
There is an indentation on my fourth finger
Where my 57 year-old wedding band sits.
My hands have washed diapers and floors, dishes and walls.
They've cooked thousands of nourishing meals.
A few flops, too.
They've cuddled and burped my babies,
Cleaned and bandaged bloody knees and elbows.
Soothed tears and broken hearts.
They’ve even pointed an accusing finger at childhood errors
With a lowered “You better straighten up” eye.
My hands have planted seeds, pulled weeds, picked veggies and fruit
In preparation for my family's hunger pangs during cold winter days.
They've wrapped gifts, plaited braids, knitted mittens and sweaters,
Crocheted doilies, shortened and lengthened hems.
They've designed and created play clothes and wedding gowns.
My hands have typed manuscripts and study courses.
They've welcomed guests who've blessed me,
And written notes to bless others.
My hands are God's gift to me.
I cannot imagine not having them.
Had, God forbid, I not had them,
I suppose I would have learned to compensate somehow,
But I'm glad I didn't have to.
I thank my Father that He saw fit to put my hands on the ends of my arms.
They've blessed me by making me a blessing to others.
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