Written on Dec. 5
Her hands are strong.
They are calloused over from her years of work. They have carried hot pots; stirred delicious food. They have prepared meat, from life to table; sliced, boiled, plucked, cleaned, cooked.
Dirty clothes become clean through the scrubbing of her hands along the soft wood and slippery soap. They grasp the axe as she splits wood to fuel the cooking fire. They hold onto the broom and mop as she daily sweeps the house floor. They iron, scrub, wash, and cook.
As tough as her hands are, they are warm and caring. They express love when she reaches out to grab my hand. They are a solid comfort when placed on my shoulders. They are used to greet; a friendly wave; a warm hand shake, pulled into a hug; a gesture of hospitality bringing a cold drink to all guests.
Her hands teach me.
They are a part of her body,
and her being is a part of the body of Christ.