I can remember exactly what my grandmother's hands looked like. A simple ruby engagement ring was on her left hand and a lovely opal birthstone ring was on the other hand. Her nails weren't long but well manicured. Her hands cooked meals and made delicious desserts, dug through dirt to grow beautiful flowers, knitted and crocheted purses, sweaters and Christmas stockings, sewed dresses and aprons and quilts. God's fingerprint was in my grandmother's hands.
My mother's hands were such lovely hands in her youth. Long fingers with perfectly shaped nails. They wiped tears from my face, cleaned my wounds when I scraped my knees, brushed my hair from my face, taught me how to make things and they lightly spanked my bottom when I needed it. My mother's hands became gnarled with arthritis and no longer were beautiful - by the world's standards anyway - but still they would pick up a pen and jot down a poem that praised the Lord and the world he made or draw a little sketch of the things she loved. Her bent and pain filled hands would pat me on the knee as she said, "I'm glad you're here today" or touch my cheek when I kissed her goodnight. God's fingerprint was in my mother's hands.
Babies' hands are so tiny and sweet. They touch things to see how they feel. They bring things to their mouths to see how they taste. They reach out to their mommies and grandmommies when they are hurt or are afraid or just need a hug. Babies' hands leave prints on our hearts and in our souls. Babies' hands are about exploring and learning and loving and innocence and trust. They are about the potential of a tiny little being, a gift from God. God's fingerprint is in a baby's hands.
Thanks pamperingbeki for sponsoring Fingerprint Friday!