Hands...

When we were married, 30 years ago on April 24th, the sweet gentleman, Marion Vance, spoke to us as we knelt across the altar in the Mesa Temple. He had us stop and look at each others hand. Oh, way back then, my hands were soft and sweet...not much wear on them, other than that of writing and typing at work, and a minimum of other duties. . His were calloused...those of a machinist, with dark streaks of grease stain from cars and lathes, that emphasized the things a young man does: rebuild engines, change tires, swim across entire lakes, repair and redesign aerospace hardware. Elder Vance gave us each a vision of what those hands would do in the ensuing years as we went through our life together: opening doors, holding my hand as I gave birth, carrying our babies. We were so very young then, and I had absolutely NO idea how much those hands I was admiring would do. Those hands have driven to work...three jobs...making intricate parts for private jets, tools to facilitate those parts being made, spinning records, and cd's for a dj business he began on his own, showing homes and writing contracts as a realtor...so I could stay home, holding our babies, being able to walk them to the bus, be a homeroom parent, go to performances and plays and DARE graduations, and helping in their classrooms. Those hands have built, rebuilt, repaired, replaced, mixed and poured, layed and tore up, puttied, spackled, changed, altered, designed, nailed, bondoed...oh, the list: from pinewood derby cars, to our cars, from playground equipment to pizza ovens. Those hands have tickled my nose...something I absolutely hate...when labor progressed to the nasty part. Those hands have cooked and grilled, and cleaned up messes. Those hands held my babies, cut cords, wiped noses, threw baseballs, created science projects, painted fences and placed bricks and created faucet after faucet after faucet and wood worked easels so that four sons could become four Eagle Scouts, painted tap shoes, repaired flutes and french horns and guitars and clarinets and saxophones, buttoned dresses, polished shoes, tied ties, carried to the emergency room, held as stitches were applied to a cut head, blessed, set apart, wrote to, hugged, typed letters, embraced, and accompanied to witness the highest Heavenly Father has to offer. Those hands have applied compresses, rubbed feet, taken temperature, steri-stripped, splinted. Those hands have held me up when I didn't think I had one ounce left in me to give. And, those hands still give. Oh, how little I knew then...and how much I thank the Lord for...those hands!