Badges of Honor: What My Hands Reveal About a Life Well Lived

I look at my hands now and I don’t recognize them. They are foreign to me and I’m surprised they are mine. Gone are the smooth hands with the long double-jointed fingers that my family always made fun of. In their place are wrinkled hands with strangely twisted fingers.

Ann Kirsten

My fingers now bow up and down at weird angles and strange growths have popped out at the joints. They won’t straighten anymore and they hurt when I try to move them. I often stare down at them and wonder when they changed and why I didn’t notice it happening.

My hands served me well over the years. I got through school in spite of the constant “bad handwriting” marks I received. We used big, soft school pencils in my youth. My left-handed writing with the soft and dark lead smeared whatever I had just written on the page.

I was able to entertain my friends with my double-jointed abilities. I could bend only the top joints while I kept the rest of my fingers straight. I could also bend my hands completely in half. I don’t imagine those tricks were very healthy for my hands. Still, you have to work with what you’re given!

My hands also brought me through some dark days. The years when I didn’t fit in, I spent school recesses hidden in the bathroom. I drew countless pictures while my classmates ran around outside. I wasn’t lonely when my hands drew stories of a better life.

Years later, a handsome prince slipped a ring on my left hand. Finally, I belonged to someone. He saw me and loved what he saw. I looked often at my hand back then and the sparkly reminder that I was part of a precious team now.

We began our life together and soon beautiful little blessings joined us. My hands were busy and grew capable at changing diapers, making meals and most importantly, cuddling little people. So much love was expressed through my hands.

As the kids grew older, the days of diaper changes and bottles were over. Instead, my hands were used to bandage scraped knees and grip the steering wheel while I drove to countless practices and playdates. And still my hands cuddled and hugged and showed my people how very loved they were.

Later, my hands straightened veils and buttoned wedding gowns. Then my hands once again cuddled babies, bandaged scrapes, and wiped tears away. Grandchildren had arrived. Pain now accompanied my actions but pain does not matter when those sweet faces look up at you.

Now, as even the grandchildren are growing up, I look at my hands and see a stranger’s hands. Instead of being angry, I look at them with humor and gratitude.

Hands are mentioned so many times in the Bible and they symbolize so many things.

The Hand of God symbolizes divine power, protection, and authority. Hands are used for both blessing and discipline.

Clean hands symbolize righteousness while bloody hands symbolize wickedness or guilt. (Read Matthew 5:30).

Laying on of hands was used by Jesus to heal and bless. And was used by the apostles to impart the Holy Spirit.

Like Jesus, people were encouraged to work with their hands to serve others, to wash feet and perform miracles.

In many Church settings, a common way to worship, pray, and show submission to God is to raise hands.

John 10:29 says that “My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father’s hand.” Here, hands are used to express security.

Scripture tells us that living with open hands (generously and trusting) is better than being tight-fisted (stingy).

Washing hands symbolized innocence as seen in Psalms 26:6 and Matthew 27:24.

And remember when Moses held up his hands, Israel won the battle and when he dropped them they began to lose (Exodus 17:11-12).

Jesus used his hands to touch lepers, bless children, and wash disciples’ feet. He used his hands to demonstrate humility and love.

And Jesus’ nail-scarred hands are a powerful reminder of what He did for all of us.

So, now as I look at my funny hands, I think of what they have achieved. The misshapen fingers and joint pain are like badges of honor. I look down with a smile and say, “Well done, good and faithful servants, you have served me (and so many others) well.”

A few days ago Erica shared a beautiful picture of her Nanny Gloria’s hands – They tell the story of a life well lived, and ones ready to slip into the hands of Jesus Himself. Aren’t they lovely?