Posted by: Diane | December 4, 2013


These hands came in to the store yesterday. I asked permission to take a picture.


When I asked this customer about all her rings and bangles, she told me, “Every ring represents a life-changing decision in my life and every bracelet represents a difficult time. This is who I am and I carry this legacy everywhere I go. I never take the rings or the bracelets off because of my arthritis.”

Hm…interesting explanation…but I do think she was right in that hands say a lot about a person.

When I was a little girl, one of my favourite things to do was to hold my nana’s hands. She had beautiful, strong nails and gentle, soft hands.

hands 3

Those hands made roast beef dinner and homemade cream puffs every Sunday afternoon. Those hands comforted me when I got in trouble. Those hands kept the house clean when my brothers and I lived with Nana and Pop for a few years after our parents divorced.

Those hands expressed love to me.

Even when I was older, I always loved sitting beside my nana and holding her warm hands. I remember visiting Nana in the retirement home and as she sat in her favourite wingback chair, I would nestle in beside her and stroke her hands as we talked.

Nana died many years ago but I still remember her hands.

I am always looking at hands when I work because people are bringing all their shopping items to the front counter to pay. As I wait patiently for customers to forge through their purses and pockets, this is what I see:

– little childrens’ hands reaching over the counter with a sucker, a quarter and a big smile.

– arthritic hands struggling to hold onto a slippery $20.00 bill

– farmers’ hands with mud embedded in the nail beds

– mother’s hands filled with toys, bottles and shopping lists

– an old man’s hand covered in eczema

– model’s hands – long fingers and perfectly manicured nails

– teenage hands consumed with cell phones

– smokers’ yellow hands and addicts’ shaking hands

– lovers’ hands brushing past each other’s bodies

-workers’ hands, covered with scratches and bandaids.

Working in a little town store is a good place for someone who likes looking at hands.

I came across this cool song this morning – it’s about hands..and love.

The Hand Song – Nickel Creek

The boy only wanting to give mother something,
And all of her roses had bloomed.Looking at him as he came rushing in,
knowing her roses were doomed.All she could see were some thorns buried deep,
And tears that he cried as she tended his wounds.And she knew it was love, it was what she could understand.
He was showing his love and that’s how he hurt his hands.He still remembers that night as a child, on his mothers knee.
She held him close and she opened her Bible, and quietly started to read.

Then seeing a picture of Jesus, he cried out:
“Mama he’s got some scars just like me!”

And he knew it was love, it was what he could understand.
He was showing his love, and that’s how he hurt his hands.

[instrumental break]

Now the boy is grown and moved out on his own.
When Uncle Sam comes along.
A foreign affair, but our young men are there.
And luck had his number drawn.

It wasn’t that long till our hero was gone, he gave to a friend what he learned from the cross.

But they knew it was love, it one they could understand.
He was showing his love, and that’s how he hurt his hands.

It was one they could understand.

He was showing his love, and that’s how he hurt his hands.

Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;  Isaiah 49.16




  1. A beautiful posting….

  2. This is so beautiful, Diane. Thank you this post. I loved it.


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