A Page of One's Own

Her Hands

Jan
09

January 28, 2016 ushered in new life,
and God smiled.

Her hands touched air for the first time and she felt cold
and cried and reached for my belly but felt instead my face.
Her hands swaddled down tight by the nurse, under the thin blanket with pastel footprints
in pink and green and blue and yellow.
Her hands with ten perfect fingers and ten tiny slivers of fingernails,
her hands new from God to me—
she reached for my belly but felt instead my face.
Her hands touching the minky pink carseat cover for the first time,
fingers squeezing and then spreading out,
feeling carpet and bathwater and sinks and and towels and clothes,
warmth and skin and lips.
Her fingers wrapped around her own thumb, clenching with curiosity and wonder in this world,
her hands holding another thumb for closeness, and then another,
of her grandfather, her grandmother, her aunt, her uncle.
She reached for anything bright and moving—toys, mouths, mobiles, blankets, her curled toes—
and then her hands brought leaves and toys mobiles blankets and toes to her mouth.
Her hands found her soft lamby, pink and new, and she cuddled him close.
Her hands found the ground, and she pushed off and kicked and rolled,
her hands clawed the carpet and she balled up and spread out and crawled.
her hands found the chair, and she struggled and pulled and stood,
her hands found each other, and she smiled and giggled and clapped.
Her hands said “more” and she grunted and reached, and her hands said “all done.”
Her hands waved “hello” to grandma for the first time, and “good-bye” to daddy on his way to school.
Her hands gave high-fives, and she loved the sound, and she scrunched up her nose and squealed.
Her hands found a toothbrush and she would not give it up, and her hands
discovered the cold of the snow and the hot of my breath.
Her fingers felt the piano keys; she played a C# over, and over, and over, again
and her hands found drawers and suitcases and boxes to unpack.
Her hands recoiled with new people and pointed to new friends.
Her hands danced and twirled and imagined and wondered.

Her hands will hold those weary ones and wipe tears of those tired ones,
and they will build a life and a future and legacy of creation
of beautiful things and beautiful people and beautiful thoughts.
Her hands will work, they will plant gardens for the hungry and build homes for the lonely.
Her hands will reach out, and they will reach up.
Her hands will hold a newborn and touch its face, and wonder at its perfection and
those hands will find God and those hands will know God,
and He will smile.

One Response to Her Hands

  1. Beautiful!!!

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