These Hands

I spend a lot of time working with my hands and this passed weekend was no different. I received 6 cubic yards of top soil to fill my raised garden beds with. That's a lot of shoveling, pulling and dumping. Each section of garden (10 ft by 4 feet) took 6 to 8 trips to fill. Each trip with the wagon took about 15 shovelfuls to prepare and one big push to get the container to spill over into the garden beds. That's 120 shovelfuls for each raised bed, and 1320 shovelfuls for the whole garden.



I received some help from the kids and hubby but I think even they knew, this was my baby. I did the lioness' share. I kept going when my legs begged me to stop. I kept shoveling when the blister formed on my palm. I needed to get this done. I need to plant roots at this house or it will never feel like a home.



I did it. I filled the beds with topsoil to spare and now I can start planting. It feels good to be so 'accomplished'.




This whole time, after the blister formed and I still kept pushing on, I was thinking about my hands and how much they have helped me accomplish. I've held my babies in these hands and showed them they were loved. I've held my husband's hand when he was in a coma and encourage him to come back to us. I've planted tiny seeds and gave them room and water so they could flourish and provide us with food. I have hugged friends in need, and wiped away the tears I cried for those I could not hug. I've touched trees in the forest, pick up someone else' litter and rushed spiders outside.

My hands wash dishes, prepare food, fold laundry and clean floors. My hands help me write this blog and my novel, which are both huge sources of pride for me. My hands hold books and turn pages so that I may learn and grow as a person. Right now I have a cat curled up in my arms with one hand petting her and the other typing away.

I am proud of these hands, each line and future callous, each dry patch and wrinkle. These hands do many things and they are a testament to how much I have truly lived.