Jim's Hands

Several years ago I had a piano student who was a retired therapist.  She was interesting and vibrant and we became fast friends.  Jim and I were invited to her home to have dinner on several occasions with her and her husband who was also "Jim."  Over delicious food we exchanged silly stories and anecdotes.  And invariably the subject of my Jim's "hand antics" would come up--the time he accidentally poured a cup of hot coffee on his hand giving himself second degree burns;  the time he smashed his finger in a car door as a kid, altering his fingernail forever;  the time he sawed (yes, hammer and saw kind of saw) his thumb and forefinger trimming branches in a tree--all while I thought he was washing the car;  and most famously, the time he cut off the tip of his finger in a truck door while on a Dunkin' Donuts run (the man will do just about anything for a cup of coffee).  My friend Kathryn would shake her head and facetiously say, "Jim, I think I should do a study on what you have against your hands."

Jim may have something against his hands, but my experiences of them is very different.  We were in college when he held my hand for the first time--my heart was pounding with excitement!  And after graduation, on a beautiful day in September, I was thrilled to slip a simple gold band on his hand at our wedding.  Eight years later he held my hand as I gave birth to our first daughter and then again three years later when our second daughter came
along--he floated across the hospital nursery as he carried those new babies in his hands.

Jim's hands cleverly built puppet stages for our Kid's Kamps each summer.  They steadied a little pink bicycle as he taught our girls to ride a two wheeler.  His hands pushed the lawn mower and walked the dog on Weekeepeemee.  He grilled many outdoor meals with those hands.  And with his hands, he expertly packed the car for vacation and moved the girls into their apartments at college.  And exactly four years ago today Jim's hands comforted, reassured and calmed me as we learned that I was in "end-stage" renal failure.

In the years since that life-changing moment, his hands have cooked our meals, done our laundry and vacuumed our home.  They have steadied me as I struggle to walk and climb stairs.  Jim's hands have held my purse and coat in the waiting rooms of countless doctors.  His hands have carried our beach chairs and picnic cooler.  They have picked up Scrabble tiles as we play by the lake.   Jim's hands have held mine as we have prayed together and read scriptures together.

In Psalm 138:7, David says of God:

"Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life;  you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me."

Thank you, Jim, for giving me a clear picture of what this verse means.