The Hands of My Husband....

The hands of my husband remind me of Jesus.  They are wrought with scars and scratches....but to me, they are perfect.

The hands of my husband are that of a servant...a leader....combined in one with heart so big that it would burst to overflowing with it's bountiful love except that he shares it with me, my children, and probably with you as well.

The hands of my husband can do about anything.  High compliment from me is to say that "you are like my Daddy.  My Daddy can do "anything"....and, so can you.  My husband, when so complimented bows his head in humble shy and says, oh no, I look up to look at your Daddy here on earth and your Father, there in heaven.

The hands of my husband...they carry this tired and weary body these past eleven plus months to and fro from appointments.  They wipe the tears from sorrow and pain.  They clasp my own in prayer when prayer was all I had...and, he showed me that prayer is all we could want or need.

The hands of my husband, they grow old with me.  I've know their touch since a young girl when he made me feel like a cute little youngster grinning his teenage grin and giving cute wink to one who felt special because he took time to notice.

Then, as young teen girl, awkward and shy....all glasses and braces and freckles, he told me then that one day I would be beautiful...from the inside out and to keep my head down in humble prayer but to lift my eyes up in honest seeking.

The hands I first held at my first movie, appropriately, "Jaws" when I was scared and he was too (yes, really, he hates sharks)...sweetest memories ever of his arm breaking my back nearly from fright when the movie scared up its audience.

His hands held mine through teenage dates, movie times with our church youth, when he drag raced down "Dixie Highway"....

They held mine as we laid to rest my best friend, Beth and he reminded me that she was not forever gone but for-always with Him where we would meet again one day, sooner...than later.

They held mine then let them go as I went off to college to become who God intended....in tenderness and with sefless encouragement...

And, then, for more than thirty years....I walked without those hands

I never saw them
I never felt them

I let them go as he did mine to that path we chose to walk

Sometimes, God takes your life and and your heart and he makes what might not be lovely on the outside, so precious and beautiful on the inside.

And, that is what He did for me and Ian

Those hands which so loved me as a little girl, then a young girl, then a young woman....

Then, a heart-broken woman

Then, a healed woman

They quietly walked up to my person and grasped mine once again....as I walked alone

I knew them immediately.  My woman's hands remembered the tenderness of their touch, the strength of their grip, the preciousness of their heart

The grasped mine then....and, they grasp mine now

And, only God will ever know the journey they have traveled with me these past four years....

I feel the love of Jesus when I hold the hands of my husband, Ian

The Jesus who is Fisherman, Shepherd, Healer

The Jesus who is Kindred soul, Tender Forgiver, Sweetest Friend

I love the hands of my husband, Ian

And, great truth I rest in peaceful knowing

Ian loves my hands as well

Blessed

Lesa