Hands - Poem by Shanna

Hands
September 12, 2009

I sit next to the lazy boy chair where he feels most comfortable
Holding hands,
I’m looking at our wedding rings- too thin to stay round or smooth when they adorn such busy hands.

Our hands –
Encouraging hands pulling each other up mountains, up to rooftops, up cathedral towers, to wherever the eagle’s perspective, physical and metaphysical, could be found;
My words will be beautiful, O Spirit, as I walk the beauty trail.

Steadying hands for crossing all the rushing streams with tippy rocks, up to, in, over and through waterfalls, then stopping and breathing in the happiness- charged ions;
Filling up and spilling over, it’s an endless waterfall.

Playful hands doing cross-body and pretzel leads with special finger holds – little signals to make me spin one way or the other across the dance hall, the living room rug, the kitchen floor, the asphalt driveway in front of the church for the fund-raiser, the concrete plaza beneath the twin towers, the straw-covered grass in the pig tent at the county fair dance demo, on the French street where the band played oldies under the stars;
All the world was our dance floor.

Encouraging hands helping our children learn to walk, to write, to throw, to do somersaults, to play music, to use a hammer, to drive a tractor, to check the oil, to ride a bike, to fill in an account book, to draw building plans, to massage away stress, to reach out to those needing help climbing their mountains;
To everything there is season.

Clapping hands in appreciation for anyone who had the courage to perform, for Katheryn singing, for Aaron in the drama club, for Seth dancing in Hello Dolly, for street musicians and artists, for handicapped kids in the camp talent show, for any kid who achieved a goal;
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.

Preparing hands –trailers, vans being readied for how many thousands of miles of adventures, packing flashlights, tools, a change of underwear, lots of food, a pile of kids and inflatable inner tubes- off we go. We never tired of heartland farmhouses , snow-covered mountains, beautiful architecture, fascinating science and history museums, and warm homes of welcoming friends.
Just can’t wait to get on the road again.

Healing hands easing childbirth pain, rubbing feet when parents were sick, kneeding the devil-knots in shoulders, relaxing necks of all of our guests and friends whenever they sat near, believing in the power of loving intention;
It is in giving that we receive.

Building hands, calloused by hammers, drills, nail-guns, mat knives, wrenches, chisels, saws – as we renovated and built houses, work teams and community. When you whistle and sing any happy medley of songs, no job is too hard;
Behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together-in unity.

Planting hands plying shovels, cane knives and buckets of water as we transformed raw land into landscapes. Watching nature miraculously turn seeds and sticks into flowers and fruit, palms and papayas, shade and sustenance;
Praise for them springing fresh from the Word!

Learning hands accessing I-university podcasts about economics, Eckhart Tolle, astronomy, engineering, history, biology, investment, natural healing, and goofy candid camera pranks. Learning by doing-to repair, to build, to manage problems by thinking outside-the-box;
You are the potter, I am the clay.

Praying hands, being fully present in this moment, clasped in the hands of family, expressing appreciation, security, comfort; feeling Christ through earthly hands held in love;
Where there is charity and unconditional love, there is God

Connecting hands gratefully in circles of friends - at our wedding, at our dining table, at our picnics on beaches, mountaintops, flower covered knolls, in churches, on roofs;
Any place was a good place to remember
No man is an island.