There is something comforting about hands.
One summer day when I was 7 years old, I had been watching my Daddy work on a car in the back yard. He had been working on the car all morning. I had been handing him tools when he asked for them. It seemed to make him proud that I was interested in what he was doing and it felt good to be close to him and to help him work.
I went inside and was sitting at the kitchen table eating a cheese sandwich when he came into the kitchen.
As he walked pass me, I could smell the gasoline and grease from his clothes. He walked to the kitchen sink and began washing his arms and hands. When he finished "washing up" as he called it, he wiped his big hands dry, he came over to the table.
His hands were rough from all of the work that he did and there were always traces of grease left on his hands that would never come off.
Instead of sitting down, he came over to me. I looked up at him and he took my face in his hands. He held my face, looked at me and smiled but never said a word. Then, he went to his chair and sat down to eat.
I will always cherish the memory of Daddy's hands on my face. Those big, rough hands that smelled of gasoline and grease told me that I was loved just by their touch. No words were needed then or today.
Now, when I get a faint smell of gasoline or grease, I travel back to that day and can still feel the loving touch of Daddy's hands on my face.
I saw an ordination service once called "The laying on of Hands." It was a beautiful service where older, more experienced Ministers laid their hands on the head of a new minister. It looked to me like the older Ministers were transferring their years of wisdom to the head of the young minister who was just starting his or her ministry. It was a beautiful thing to witness.
Hands come in all sizes and are very interesting to me.
I remember how big my husbands hands looked when our new babies touched his fingers with their tiny fingers.
The hands are important part of our bodies. We lend a hand, join hands, walk hand in hand,get out of hand, wash our hands and can have a heavy hand.
The touch of a hand can bring calm or cause fear.
The touch of a hand can ease pain and promote healing or do damage.
When I saw Peggy this summer, the first thing that I did was go to chair where she was sitting, kneel in front of her and hold her face in my hands. My healthy hands felt big on her ailing face. She seemed to rest her head in my touch and find a moment of comfort there. It was a moment that I will never forget.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I had the power to heal with my hands. If I had that power, I would place both of my hands on Peggy's face and bring her health and memories back by the simple act of the laying on of my hands.
One day, Peggy will be touched by a hand that will make her whole again. I am certain about that....
Spencer Michael Free wrote these words long ago...
'Tis the human touch in this world that counts, The touch of your hand in mine.
Which means far more to the fainting heart than shelter, bread and wine;
For shelter is gone when the night is o'er and bread lasts only a day,
BUT...
The touch of the hand and the sound of the voice......
Sing on in the soul always.
I Love You Today, Peggy!
Mary Louise
