The Hands of Time.

Fifteen months.  That’s how long it’s taken for his little hands that could barely grasp my finger become large and strong enough to hold onto these wooden rails.  It just seems like yesterday I was sharing with the world…well, you….that we were adding kid three to the mix. 

But, you and I are no strangers to the brevity of time. 

I love his hands.  I love his feet.  And, according to my experience with the feet of my older two, my love for his feet has an average life span of about four years.  That’s about when those chunky, little, kissable feet become far from kissable. 

But, his hands, well, they will always be kissable. 

A good friend told me once that whenever she begins to get irritated with one of her children, she intentionally looks at his or her hands.  Then, she is reminded of how young they are.  How much they’ve still to learn.  And, she softens.

I’m not sure what Jett will do with his hands as he grows older.  Perhaps, he’ll use them to write songs like his sister.  Or, pick a guitar like his brother.  Maybe, he’ll use them to pull back the yoke of an airplane like his father.  Only time will tell. 

But, whatever his hands finds to do, I pray he does it with passion and purpose.  I pray that one day, he offers his hands to his King, and says, “These are Yours.  Use them.” 

As for me, I will pray for those hands.  And, I will kiss those hands for as long I as live……

Or, however long he lets me.  

Whatever your hands finds to do, do it with all your might…. Ecclesiastes 9:10