Hands

Love comes in many shapes and sizes. There are different love languages and various ways to receive love that has been freely give to us. 

Since I can remember, I've always liked to look at peoples hands.  For one reason or another I felt like I could make certain assumptions from a person's hands.  Even my own hands are scrutinized by this judgement on a daily basis. 

The hands you see before you are the hands of a man who spent his entire life working hard. Many times these knuckles were bloodied from a hard day's work.  There was often dirt under the nails as a result of many hours in a marvelous garden.  A garden which was nurtured by generous hands and produced enough for his family, his neighbors and even his customers.  These are strong hands that could toss a horseshoe across the yard to make a perfect ringer and push a tire swing loaded with giggly girls. These are intricate hands that could tie a fly or bait a hook ever so perfectly. They are also the sympathetic hands that comforted me in times of doubt, the soft hands that cuddled my foot the first time I stepped on a bee, and the teaching hands that help to mold me into the (self-proclaimed) marvelous cook that I am. 

To the man who washed these hands they were old, worn out, and riddled with knots and arthristis.  But to me...to ME they are the perfect example of love and the many forms it takes.

Oh, how I love and deeply miss these hands.