A few weeks ago we were putting Tulips, Daffodils and Irises in the ground. The feeling of the dirt between your fingers, the occasional worm and unfortunately too often rocks, felt good. The funny thing about growing up, is we stop playing in the mud, and we don’t get our hands dirty.
Take a look at your hands. What do you see? What kind of story would they tell?
When I look down, I see some sun spots on the back, a couple of cuts from splinters on the fingers, dry cracked skin from the recent cold. There is the black mark in the pit of the palm that I’m pretty sure is from pencil fights in the second grade and the scrape from a fan blade on a 1984 Olds Cutlass.
I believe if these hands could talk, they would tell about the incredible adventures they saw while still small – slimy fish, muddy trails, and thick pine sap. They would tell of the large hands that held them while walking, and the small hands that they held when they felt danger.
Walking outside now, the ground is frozen and will be for several more days. Spring is coming, and with it the promise of dirty hands. That dirt, those hands, a little sweat, some good insects, a little rain, a lot of sun and God’s kind mercy will produce a bounty of beautiful flowers.
Can you feel it?
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