My hands looked old and wrinkled from the time I was born! They are just as wrinkled on the top as inside. I began playing the piano when I was seven and there was no way to hide those ugly hands. I stopped biting my nails, so at least my fingers (also wrinkled!) would look a little better.
No amount of cream helped to get rid of their roughness. Often times during the winter my fingers would bleed because of the tiny cracks. Oh, and the freckles…why did there have to be so many?
Years later, on a flight home during college, I sat doing my studies. A well dressed business man was sitting next to me. At one point this nosy passenger said to me, “Miss, if you don’t do something about those hands now, by the time you are older, they are going to look awful.”
Rude. Tacky. Pathetic. My first reaction was to cry. My second reaction was to tell him what I thought of him. I’m so glad I chose instead to give him my biggest smile and say, “Thank you for noticing my hands!”
It was at that exact moment…age 19… I felt very good about the hands God had given me. I felt blessed! I never looked at my hands in the same way. I loved every wrinkle, every freckle.
I’m much older now. In fact, small age spots have joined the party. I wish I could find that passenger now, show him my hands and let him know I continue to be proud of my old, rough, wrinkled hands! Guess what? They almost look just like they did when I was 19 years old!!