“You have old people hands.”Art Linkletter was right. Kids say the darndest things, and sometimes those cute quips can be painfully honest. My husband and I were sitting on a bench at an outdoor event when a little boy pointed out our hands and made his declarative statement.
We looked at each other and then back at the little boy. “What?”
“Yep,” he nodded, “you have old people hands.”
As we looked at our hands with purple veins, age spots, and plenty of wrinkles, we had to agree. We intertwined those hands on the way home and laughed. Old people hands. That’s us!
Not long ago, I saw a photo of my mom and I holding hands during her first chemo treatment and thought about how she used those beautiful hands to garden, teach piano, cook, clean, create, give. But it wasn’t until the day Mom and I curled our fingers together during chemo that I realized the beauty of those hands, not because they were smooth and flawless, but because they had seen a lifetime of serving. Age spots and wrinkles were simply a testimony to all Mom’s hands had accomplished.
I recently held the hand of a precious mentor in the last moments before she met Jesus. The goodbye was heartbreaking, and I felt her squeeze my hand for the last time. This woman embodied the love of Jesus and spent her life giving and serving others. As I looked at her hands that were wrinkled, frail and scarred from fighting the disease, my tears fell. Those battered hands were beautiful, like Mom’s. My friend had many reasons to fall into depression, discouragement, or hopelessness. Instead, she chose to spread hope and encouragement, and she used her hands to bless and give to everyone around her. She replaced her worry with eyes that looked out instead of within. Her hands had carried so much for me this past year as I walked through grief and loss. She loved on me when she could have been taking care of herself. Those 
same hands I now held in these last moments of her life had been wrapped around me during my darkest days, praying me through it all.
same hands I now held in these last moments of her life had been wrapped around me during my darkest days, praying me through it all.As I drove home that day, I glanced at my hands on the steering wheel and thanked God for the wrinkles and age spots. My mother and my mentor taught me so much about what it looks like to never allow my hands to be idle if there is someone who needs blessing and encouragement. Our hands are designed for this.
And those nail scars. Can you imagine how beautiful Jesus’ hands were? I thanked God that day for the sacrifices He made for me so I could be at the bedside of my friend, and for all the moments that led me here. God’s hands hold, fight, and protect us, and they gently pick us up when we fall. They put us back together when we are broken and lead us on paths we could never imagine.
Every day, I think about how I’m using my hands. They may not look like the hands of a younger me, but I don’t care. I want them to be used for God’s glory – to help a friend in need, or offer fellowship, comfort, blessing and service. If God keeps me safe in His hands, how could I waste the opportunity to use the hands He’s blessed me with?
Therefore, my beloved brothers and sisters, be firm, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord. 1 Corinthians 15:58