My hands

In general, I have had few laments over aging. I like getting older. Honestly, I don't think about it often.

Until I look at my hands. And then, I remember.

I am aging. My hands are aging.

Oh, my hands have never been pretty. (well, ONE single day they were pretty- when I had fake nails on my wedding day. We took a picture. It lasted much longer than the nails did...)

My hands look wrinklier than they used to, more creased than my girls' hands.

My hands show scars. A scar of four stitches from having a wart removed when I was in 7th grade. The scars of two dark lines from an oven burn months and months ago. And yes, scars from knife cuts, too.

And my hands are starting to show those same brown age spots that my grandma had. They seem to appear overnight, and grow in the next.

My hands are not as strong as they once were. Sometimes I hand a jar to my son to open. Sometimes, especially as the weather cools, my hand ache and I rub them together, slowly.

And then, I remember.

At the concert the other night, as this song played, I looked at my hands again.

And then, I remember.

I'm thankful that I do not have to rely on myself, on my hands, on work, to know peace.

Not What My Hands Have Done

written by Horatius Bonar, 1861

Not what my hands have done

Can save my guilty soul

Not what my toiling flesh has borne

Can make my spirit whole

Not what I feel or do

Can give me peace with God

Not all my prayers and sighs and tears

Can bear my awful load

Thy work alone, Oh Christ

Can ease this weight of sin

Thy blood alone, Oh Lamb of God

Can give me peace within

Thy love to me, Oh God

Not mine, Oh Lord, to Thee

Can rid me of my dark unrest

And set my spirit free

And I bless the Christ of God

I rest on love divine

And with unfaltering lip and heart

I call this Savior mine

His cross dispels each doubt

I bury in His tomb

Each thought of unbelief and fear

Each lingering shade of gloom

And I praise the God of grace

I trust His truth and light

He calls me His, I call Him mine

My God, my joy, my life

Tis He Who saveth me

And freely pardon gives

I love because He loveth me

I live because He lives