I Earned these Stripes

Okay, okay, they are not stripes, they are wrinkles, liver spots, and dry skin, but still, I earned them.

When you want to know how old you look, hang out with your grandchildren who, in their unedited fashion, will tell you that your breath smells, or your teeth are yellow, or that your hands look old. They tell the truth without malice, without any concept of the impact and certainly are not aware of your reaction, which is gentle because it is so obvious that they mean no harm.

With these hands I made mud pies and picked dandelions. With these hands I have rolled out piecrust and kneaded hundreds of loaves of bread. With these hands I bathed my children, cleaned up their puke, and changed their diapers. These hands planted flowers and vegetables and plucked apples from trees. These hands lovingly support my husband, and others as I wipe tears and lay a comforting hand on a shoulder.

With these hands I have worked hard cleaning, dusting, cooking, and shoveling snow. These hands have seen good times like weddings and graduations, and hard times like court appearances and the inside of police stations. These are my hands and my wrinkles and they deserve to be loved and honored. We have traveled far and wide together, they carry history with them. I have earned these stripes. Each time I look down at my hands I see the history of me, the history of a life well lived.

What do you see when you look down at your hands? What stories come to mind? What feelings are recalled?

Your hands are your connection to the world around you. Your fingerprint, unique and one of a kind, is the evidence of God’s imprint upon you that made you, You. There is no one like you and never will be. You were precious at birth with those sweet little hands and you are precious now with the hands of experience. You, too, have earned the right to bask in the beauty of experience of a life well lived with all the pain and the ecstasy. You have earned your stripes.