Five Minute Friday - Hands

I look forward to Fridays.  On Fridays we write. And sometimes it goes all over the place and we let it. We get messy and real and sometimes we cry and sometimes we laugh but we get it done week after week.We show up and write free. Five minutes on one prompt. We silence the critic and the audience, we make peace with our mistakes and our word tense that goes in and out when we type fast. We don’t overthink or edit or make a fuss. We just believe words spilled are worth something even if they come out like madness. Join us? It’s never too late to link up. When you have posted your blog then hop over here and link up.  If you don't have a blog then leave your thoughts in Lisa Jo's comment section.  The important thing is that you need to respond to the person who posted  before you....and anyone else you want to comment on.  It is a lot of fun and you hear some amazing thoughts.  Today's word is one of my favorite words:  hands.  I love looking at hands and hearing the story they have to tell.   Are you ready to begin?  Ok...set you clock for five minutes and start writing.


Hands



I have a thing about hands as I said.  They are the expression of your life so today I thought I would use a little photo-journaling to write about hands.  One of my favorite pictures is of my mom and dad's hands shortly before he died.  My computer is being stubborn today so I can't share it with you.  But let me tell you about them.  These are the hands that disciplined me as a child, that calmed the savage beast when night terrors would awaken me....and them ....in the middle of the night. These are the hands I held to cross the street when I was little....and they were old.  The top picture are the hands of an expectant mother.  Her hands are sharing the new baby items she will use for this first baby.  She is excited and so are her hands as they feel all the baby softness of the clothes, the toys, the blankets.  Hands feel secure and welcoming.

The hands of a grandfather holding his first grandchild for the very first time.  These hands are eager to touch something so soft and sweet.  This is the first child of his only child.   The hands touch the hair, the face.  Hands are excited.  The other hands are the hands of a mother, her daughter, and her god daughter raising their hands in Christmas cheer with eggnog.  These hands are enjoying friendship and family. 

Hands that are capturing the moment.  These hands are a missionaries hands that want to share the emotions felt and capture the moments of their trip to share with those of us at home who cannot or will not go.  Hands being held can be a sign of love, or compassion, or calming when nightmares loom in the darkness.  These hands are those of a missionary and an orphan connecting. The bottom picture show hands being raised in praise.  Moldovan orphans sharing the love of Jesus through their hands in a praise and worship setting.  I love hands!

Hands Speak Volumes

I am a real hand nut. I love to look at people's hands because I truly believe that hand's speak volumes. When my son, Eric, was little he got into some briars picking blackberries for me(to make a pie for him). His sweet little hands were all scratched and I had to pick a few briar remnants from them. Now he is a grown man. It is hard to believe that my son will be 40 in August. Now his hands still bear scars...scars of hard work. He is a maintainence man for a car part plant and is constantly scrapping his knuckles, or cutting himself...but I still love his sweet hands...now they are man hands...and show hard work. I love babies hands...they are so tiny...miniature adult hands...tender...not calloused...just sweet. They wrap themselves around your finger...and squeeze at your heart. Today, I was in Opelika seeing my sweet Jill's first baby. When I entered the room Jill asked me if I wanted to hold him. I never turn down a baby holding moment...I love their smell, their feel...everything about them...while I was holding this precious new creation...not even 24 hours old...his tiny little hand wrapped itself around my pinky finger...and I was a goner. So, I thought I would blog about hands today...and I was listening to Nickel Creek while I was trying to figure out just what I would say and their song, The Hand Song, came on. How perfect is that. It is a great song that says alot about hands. Hands, they are so soft and kind when congratulating us for something we have done right. These same comforting hands can also appear hard when discipling us. Baby hands, children hands, teen age hands, old people hands...Jesus hands....all tell us a story. Look at your hands...what do they have to say about you? My finger tips are calloused from playing guitar...I have an age spot or two that have suddenly appeared.(I thought only old people got those?)...hummm. I have scars from crazy things I did as a child...like climbing Jim Gunnell's coconut tree to get a coconut down. What was I thinking. I have one or two from surgery. I have a long life line and big visible veins...that move around when the nurse tries to stick one of them. I have short, choppy, man hands...oh...and bite my nails a bit. I will never be a hand model...but my hands are expressive. My kids at school say if you were to tie my hands up I would be mute. Hands say a lot...and most of the time mine are on overload. Happy Sunday.

What Do Hands Say About a Person?

The hands you are looking at are my parents hands on their 50th wedding anniversary almost 10 years ago. My father's hands are the top ones....doing what they have always done....shielding my mom. That was a job he took very seriously when I was a child after the death of my brother especially. I have always thought my father had the most interesting hands....they were very strong...yet the skin was always so soft...except for at the tips of his fingers where there were callouses from working hard with them. When my dad was a young man....he had an accident at one of the draw bridges in South Florida. He had ridden it up...like a cowboy....fixed some electrical ailments...but when it came down it had not settled...and his finger got caught in the gap and he lost a chunk of one finger....that was the finger he would always point at me when I would get out of line....it would bring me back in line very quickly. My father never used his hands in anger. His hands were always for uplifting his fellow man and when you look at his hands...even his 83 year old hands...you see a man who worked hard to take care of those he loved. My mom's hands are on the bottom of the picture. My mom also has strong hands...yet they are hands that needed protecting from harsh realities of the world. If she ever hurt anything when I was a child...it would be her hands...so her hands carry a lot of life lessons around on them. My parents still hold hands...and I think that is pretty cool for an 80 and 83 year old. Of course now it is more done to steady the other one....it is still a sweet gesture...don't you think? My hands look like my parents...just newer. I too have calloused fingers...but mine are from playing the guitar, I don't have a job that would warrant callouses. Oh, I have scars and bumps, knots, bruises....but when you look at my hands...you see someone who is willing....willing to take on the world....for a friend. Frank has the coolest of hands. He has beautifully long, graceful fingers (mine are short and choppy)and you can tell from his hands that he has used them to support himself for a long time. His finger tips have callouses....and he is not afraid of hard work. I love to put my hand in his...because like my father...his hands are very reassuring...and protective. Do you ever look at people's hands? Do you ever wonder what they do? Do you ever wonder what story their hands have? I do all the time...just like right now...I am curious as to what your hands say about you?

58 Years With the Same Man.

My parents will soon be celebrating their 58th wedding anniversary. I am the only living product of this example of longevity and I have looked at them many times and wondered how they did it. My first marriage lasted over 20 years.....only because I could not stand the thought of failing.....and then one day I snapped and could not take it anymore....and there I was....47 and single again. I ventured out once more and married Frank.....I adore him and he is a good man (my parents have lived with us since 2005.....he is not just a good man....he is a saint in the making.) Yet, I cannot imagine being married to the same person.....for 58 years. I sat down with my parents one night and asked them what it was that they did that made marriage work for them and they gave me a lot of suggestions. My parents have always been had an intimate relationship with each other.....of course you don't want to hear that about your parents....but my mom went on to say that it had to be both sexual and emotional...and they always found ways to spark a little passion in life and for each another. They never went to bed angry.....they always would find a way to forgive each other. Now mind you....it was usually my dad doing the forgiving most of the time....my mom is a pistol ball....and my dad is one of the most laid back people in the world. He is a delight to be around. She on the other hand....can be a handful....she is fiery at times. Once my parents ended a fuss....and forgave each other....they forgot it....truly forgot it. I have never heard them throw something up from their pasts.....I have always thought that was amazing.
They have always shared a spirit of commitment...The neat thing is that they not only love one another, they also like one another. He is her best friend. All throughout my life I have witnessed them having fun with each other.....(like dancing to the Teaberry Shuffle at the mall....mortifying for me as a 13 year old....but sweet now that I am a 50 something._ They have always been there to be a comfort to each other....I don't know how they would have made it through the death of my brother without it...they are such encouragers, and always seemed to know how to affirm each others faith, dreams, career. My mother never really worked when I was a child....she was always able to be independent....when she wanted something extra....she would get a job. They have always respected each others space and privacy......now I find that my mother is a bit smothering where my dad is concerned.....but he takes it in stride....it drives me nuts! When I was growing up....they parented together.....I could never pull something off on one...because they were a team. They dealt with crisises in our lives together....no matter how painful....they just handled them. I grew up wanting to marry a man just like my dad.....sad to say....they don't make them like that anymore. Frank is the closest thing I have found. My mom and dad loved each other for who they were, what they were, and how they were....and never tried to change the other one....(that one is a tough one for me....I would have been in their fighting for change all along....that is the radical in me I guess.) The best thing my parents do is still hold hands....it is the sweetest thing....to see old couples holding hands. I love to hold Frank's hands....Frank has reassuring hands....his hands are so powerful....hands in general fascinate me(that and babies feet).....I hope when I have old hands....Frank is still holding on to them.....I hope I learned something from the ancients.....and know how to make a marriage last....at least 50 years.