My Husband's Hands

These hands belong to my husband. They are very large and quite worn.

His hands are twice the size of mine. He requires gloves larger than XL - which are hard to find. I bought him three pair for Christmas and had to return them all because they were too small.

These are working man's hands. They are scarred, scraped, bruised, dry, and rough. They have dirt ground into them that doesn't come off with a shower. They have grit in them, and often splinters. The nails are generally bruised because he's hit his finger with a hammer or smashed it against something.

These hands also caress and are so gentle you wonder if you're being touched by a feather. They grip tightly in love and wonder. They give great massages and are the first part of a hug.

We hold hands every night while we watch TV. We hold hands in the mall and when we're on vacation.

My husband's hands are a wonder to me. They built our house, nail by nail. They work the farm and touch the soil. They mow grass and plant trees. They care for the cattle and build fence. They fix tractors.

They also help the sick when he's at work running emergency calls, because he is an EMT. These hands put out fires, save people's lives, rescue cats from trees and pull dogs from sewers.

These hands are a miracle. So is he.