I have seen many beautiful things in my 42 years of life. The awesome hues of a sunset (never a sunrise- too early), spring making its way by clothing trees and bushes with vibrant color, autumn dressing the trees in beautiful shades of yellows, reds and oranges. I have seen the beauty of my husband's smile as I walked down the aisle, the awesome gorgeousness of my newborn daughters, even covered in the schmutz of their birth, the love in my parents eyes. Newborn kittens in their fuzzy glory, beautiful flowers given with love, streams flowing over rocks on a clear sunny day.
However, today I saw a beauty that tops all of that- in the hand of an elderly gentleman- a parchment looking hand with long tapered fingers and perfectly oval nails. The skin was pulled and wrinkled, the fingers bony, the palm once strong now weak.
I know it doesn't sound very lovely. But I looked deeper and here is what I saw.
A chubby baby hand, with dimples in the fingers, grasping at air and waving tiny fingers with barely there nails. I saw the hand of a little boy, playing with blocks, trying to stack them with chubby fingers barely managing the intricate task. I saw the hands of a slightly older boy grasping the handles of a bicycle- squeezing tightly- trying to steer on only two wheels. I saw the hand of a teenage boy shyly reaching for the hand of a young girl thrilling with the soft warm contact.
I saw the hand of the young many reaching out with a ring to present to his future bride- trembling a bit but sure of itself. And I saw the hand of a young serviceman doing his job, fighting for his country. I saw the hand tenderly caressing the face of his young wife, touching her swollen belly in awe. I saw the large strong hands gently cradling his new born baby, softly exploring the tender skin, lightly rubbing the fuzz covered head.
I saw the hands of a career man working to provide for his family. I saw hands raising a drink in celebration of a promotion, shaking the hand of a co-worker in appreciation of a job well done, laboring over tedious paper work.
I saw the hands of a retired man, now getting tired but still doing what God intended for them to do.
And now I see the hands of an elderly gentleman, shaking a bit as he drinks from a cup, grasping a fork as he feeds himself, gripping the edge of a blanket in pain, lying sedately as he drifts into sleep. These hands have seen a life time of joy, of sorrow, of love, of pain. These aged hands tell stories, these aged hands are beautiful. And one day these aged hands will finally be still.
It amazes me to think that they were once chubby little baby hands and that they have lived such a full life. I am privilaged to be able to hold these hands, to gently stroke these hands, to lay a tiny kiss on these hands.
Beauty comes in all forms. Even in places we would never think to look.
