Look at your hands. Those things at the end of your arms that you give such little thought to. Your dexterous, agile, flexible, strong, and sensitive hands tell the story of your life whether they be gnarled and old, twisted, bruised and bumpy, or soft and manicured. They are always busy, regardless of occupation or age. From infancy into our old age, our hands define us, they create the things we think in our brains and put them before us.
Even if calloused and rough from hard work, our hands can comfort our friends or even strangers. Even the most hardened worker can feel the softness of a baby as they hold them, dress them, and keep them warm and well-fed.
We touch the frightened faces of the dying then put our palms together to pray for them. Our hands can heal the sick and comfort the lonely. You can press your fingers against the cheek of a loved one and tell them without words how much you appreciate and care for them.
The sense of touch in our fingers makes us aware if something is hot, cold, warm, soft, smooth, or even nasty.
Our hands construct the world around us. They build our homes, buildings, roads, bridges, and businesses. They can hold a nail and then swing down a hammer on its head. Hands can saw and hands can weld. With them, we weed our gardens, trim the lawn and build birdhouses. Then we can go inside and use our hands to write a little bird poem with a computer, a pen, or a dab of ink on the tip of a feather.
