Living Loving

I look at my hands. Long hands, longer than many men’s, thin hands, with long nails and fine bones. Turning them over I see the pale pink and white skin against the strong muscles and tendons of a piano player. A sharp contrast to the backs which are tanned and worn from years of too much sun and dish washing and diaper changing.

These hands have played the piano, sewed costumes for plays, painted pictures for friends and typed word after word upon my computer. They have held my children’s faces and wiped away their tears, planted gardens and plucked flowers from their stems.

These hands have served me well and I am excited to see them on Lennon. He already shows a dexterity that holds the promise for many interesting things to come. He draws picture after picture of the family and they are amazing for one so young. He sings with great gusto and shows he has a good ear. Will he play the piano, or paint great pictures? Am I going to live vicariously through this small person who holds my heart so close in his little hands?

I think I will only revel in his beauty and fall in love again and again as I watch his hands grow into those of a man whose heart will be great and whose hands will do the honest work of living and loving the best way he knows how. How could I possibly want more than that?