Hands- You don’t need to be a psychic

Hands tell so much about people. Everyone, conscious or not,  judges that first impression of  a hand shake, whether macho-strong or sissy-limp. Hands hold a story of the life you’ve lived. Things like wrinkles, lines, spots, scars, calluses, bends, and joints all play a part in telling what our life has entailed. Fingernails have a story all in themselves: manicured nails, acrylic nails,  red nails, blue nails, square nails, round nails, short nails, bitten nails, jagged nails.  

One of the first memories I have of meeting Preston is shaking his hand and thinking “This guys got GREAT hands!” Tough, strong, but not over-manly, rip-my-skin-with-your-calluses.

I remember when I would apply lotion ritualistically every day, go get manicures, and nearly cry if I broke a nail.

Now a days, my hands are pretty neglected and abused. Yesterday, during church service, I looked down at them and had to laugh. Whoever would have imagined 10 years ago that I’d be scarred, cut, short-nailed and callused. Who’d a thunk I’d have thumb muscled to beat the world record in thumb wars from milking? Who’d a thunk that there’d be scars from getting kicked by a cow?

All these things are kinda silly, but I’ve just been thinking about them today. What do your hands say about what’s in your heart? What are they showing others that your life is about?

I’m not trying to get preachy, so please bear with me here, but I know the Bible tells me that we are Jesus’ hands and feet. I also know it says that each of us has a plan and purpose on the earth. Are your hands showing that plan? Are you pursuing what is in your heart?

While I never would have imagined that this would be the journey that my life would lead, I am so happy to be here. I think working a family farm and homestead, being a wife and raising three beautiful children, helping teach others about this way of life, and having a passion for holding on to our freedoms is an awesome calling.

I am proud of each and every scar, callus, and scab that my hands wear from day-to-day. They are a sign that I am doing what’s been put in my heart.

And at the end of each day, my family and I can rest in peace knowing that, while our hands get beaten and battered, our lives and this farm rest in the Hands of One Who Never Will.

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