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She walked outside onto the front porch letting the screen door slam behind her.
“Good thing the kids aren’t around,” she muttered, “they’d never let me forget it, if they knew I slammed the door!”
Her mind instantaneously traveled back forty years. It was a hot summer. Children were running in and out of the house. With every trip the screen door slammed. How many times had she fussed at them for slamming the door? It was so noisy back then.
Now it was silent.
A gentle breeze chilled the air around her. She pulled her jacket collar closer as she leaned back against the porch rail to watch the glorious rustic colors fill the evening sky.
She took in the musky smells of the decaying foliage. Spring had its sweet aroma, but autumn had its own also. Both were pleasant, yet completely different. She didn’t know which one she preferred.
She inhaled deeply allowing the cool crispness of the winter sunset fill her lungs. She decided it was the autumn smell she liked best.
“My, my how things have changed,” she commented to the unseen Presence that accompanied her. She felt His affirmation.
She looked at her hands. They had changed also. Tenderly her right hand traced the soft thread-like lines on her left hand as the glare of the winter’s sunset cast amber light all around her. She twisted the golden band around her third finger as it hung loosely below the enlarged arthritic knuckle. It was a 60 year old habit. Her hands had certainly changed since the day that ring had been placed there. Time had secretly etched its design.
“Oh, so many lines,” she sighed to Him, “no one’s gonna be asking me to do a Dove commercial anytime soon!”
The corner of her mouth turned up. What a ridiculous thought! She remembered the old TV commercials where the mother and daughter compared hands and the viewer had to decide which one was the Dove hand.
She held her hands out in front of her. She turned them palms up and palms out.
“Yep,” she chuckled, “it’s gonna be a close call!”
“Yet look at their design, my child,” the Presence whispered to her heart. “Each mark is a defining detail. Each line is a unique impression given only to you.”
She thought about what He had said. She looked at her long spindly hands again. She saw the scars from household accidents. She eyed the loose wrinkled aging skin. She rubbed the calluses on her middle finger from years of writing letters. She looked at the spidery veins.
“Well, they’re definitely ‘marred’,” she agreed. “they won’t win any beauty contests.”
“And what about Mine,” He asked. “What do you think of the design in My hands?”
She cast her gaze into the light. Sunset had disappeared. The brilliant light before her now was Him. His hand extended to hers.
Timidly she reached out to take His hand in hers. Her finger followed the incredibly lovely design in the center of His palm. She sweetly kissed the spot and bowed in adoration.
It was the design of a nail-scarred hand she had only read about.
© 1/23/04 Lissa M. Lee
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