hands after working © by wolfgangfoto
I heat the chicken and when it is ready, I begin shredding it with my hands, the tips of my fingers mostly dull to the heat having used them many times to pick up hot food and open it up to cool it off. The tips of my fingers are worn in and callouses must be hidden where heat burns because the heat only bothers a little.
I think of mothers, my mother too, who have handled food, preparing it in its heat and glory, sometimes readying it to eat, other times readying to bake or cook.
Simple acts that are done over and over, not even noticed. Tirelessly, effortlessly, with diligence and without thought. The movements so routine that scars and callouses are hidden. I think of all the women’s hands who have worked before mine, whose work is different but not necessarily harder or easier than a man’s – just different, but still lasting and changing.
I see my mother’s hands ripping my hot chicken fingers open to cool them off as I’ve done many times for my own children. I see my granny’s hands dipped into the cool milk and shortening as she stirs the flour in to make biscuits. I see my grandmother’s hands grasping the knitting needles and hear the clink of the needles as they move in and out making a dishrag or baby blanket. I see those hands shaping me unknown, unseen, while they work. I see too my hands doing the same, picking up a legacy started generations ago.
Mothers and wives, often our work is unseen and unnoticed, but it leaves a trail anyhow. Little eyes watch, mouths may not thank, but hands grow bigger and into the roles we leave behind.
“She works with eager hands.” Proverbs 31:13
What are your hands doing today? Do they pick up where your mother left off?
You have no idea how much I needed to read this today! Great post!
I am glad you were encouraged!
Beautiful words Jamie! I appreciate them so very much. Much like fitting our feet into the footprints of others is watching our hands become those of our mothers and grandmothers.
Yes, beautiful imagery!
I thought about this post as I was scooping the flesh out of hot baked potatoes…I will be the only one to eat them in my household of four…because my in-laws won’t eat anything I cook and, out of respect for them, my husband won’t indulge while they are here (even though he wants too). Even though I will be the only one to enjoy the fruits of my labor this time, it helps to think of it as practice to (one day) share with others. Enjoyed this beautiful post as well as others.
Thanks. I am glad you were encouraged by it, even though I want to kick Freddy (but not seriously). 😉 You’ve reminded me to pray for your family and esp knowing what to do in a bi-cultural family.
The work must carry on! It’s an honor to carry on the legacy of self-sacrifice set before us from the older generations. Fine if our fingers grow calloused so long as our hearts remain tender! Thank you for a beautiful reminder! And thank you for linking up!!
oh jamie, immediately my nana’s hands came to mind. and i could picture them in almost every scenario you described — the knitting, the pressing down of dough for apple dumplings, and the precious sight of them holding God’s Word. in her hands, and so very, very close to the depths of her soul. beautiful hands, indeed.
“I see those hands shaping me unknown, unseen, while they work” — incredibly powerful words right there. they get me choked up. b/c i didn’t know it then (as a little girl), but i sure do know it now. and i miss those sacred hands, but i know that they are raised in the fulness of worship in the very presence of the One who made them.
thanks for this, jamie. what a powerful topic to write about. i don’t know that the thought would have ever crossed my mind. so very beautiful . . .