The other day, when I laid with my youngest for a nap, I placed my hand atop her small one. As I thought about the difference in size, and in experiences, I realized how much could be attributed to these hands of mine.
With them, in just thirty years, I have held small treasures and caressed larger ones. They have curled around tools and implements, followed the pattern of a mother's hands and done the duties of a student, employee, volunteer. My hands have folded together in prayer, wiped tears--mine and others'--and held on for dear life. They've clapped in joy and in rhythm, waved as many goodbyes as hellos, and led me down the path toward my writing dream.
They are already a trophy, of sorts.
What have you done with your hands?