My Husband's Hands

For one of my wedding showers, my friends put me on the hot seat when they asked me questions for a game that my soon-to-be husband had already secretly answered. My answer to the question “What is your favorite physical feature?” got quite a few laughs and triggered several follow-up questions.

My answer? His hands.

I’ll never forget the moment. We were only dating, still trying to navigate a long-distance relationship, not at all sure about where it all was headed. I have no memory where we driving, but I do know he was holding my hand in my lap. He had callouses from his irrigation work that summer and I remember looking down at his fingers intertwined with mine. That is when I had the strangest thought:

These are my husband’s hands.

It truly made no sense at the time and even thinking it kind of freaked me out. We were not that serious and I was nowhere near sure whether he could be “the one”. It was a moment that would never make sense to any one else, because it only partially made sense to even me. I looked down again, I traced his veins and fingertips.

Yes, this is exactly what they look like.

Let me back up, never in my life had I thought about what my husbands hands might look like, never had I envisioned them. But as I looked down at his hands, I could not deny that this was exactly it, the image I never knew I had all along. So, confused and so stunned, I comforted myself with the thought that this craziness simply would never go anywhere but between the six inches between my two ears.

And now we are married.

To this day, I have zero explanation for that moment in the car. In fact, during those dating days decisions, I tried in many ways to disprove and distrust it rather than allow that moment to carry weight. I had been led by mere “feelings”, strong as they may have been, too many times to now allow something like that to be my guide. But the truth is, for some reason that I still do not understand, I have that sweet moment as a mysterious and beautiful gift, undeniable and stored deeply for the rest of my life.

So my answer to that shower question has not shifted at all.

Those hands remarkably comforted me when I laid in a hospital bed post-surgery.

Those hands have rubbed my neck and head more times than I can count to soothe and try to take away the pain of headaches roaring through.

Those hands have eased sore muscles when I crawl in bed after long days.

Those hands have reached over and grabbed mine every single prayer we have had side by side.

Those hands have grabbed mine on car rides, on quiet sofas, and in church pews while we sing.

They have been a fortress during the times when no words can match the tears.

They have held mine while walking or dancing, talking or laughing.

They have been the anchor to hold onto when I am sick and can barely focus.

Those hands have slipped across the bed, under the covers, almost every single night, and found mine, interlocked, and helped our days slide into sleep.

His hands are a testimony to the most pure and powerful kind of love. The idea that marriage should reflect the gospel, that our spouse can show us more about the Savior than we knew before, are huge and sometimes abstract thoughts. They can seem massive and sometimes lose us in their grandeur and complexity. But my husband’s hands remind me how he has been faithful to that call. His consistent serving love, his selfless giving, his silent sacrifices; those pierce right through my heart and into my very soul. They are the practical but poignant examples that point me to a perfect Savior’s love.

My husband’s hands help make sense of a even more mysterious and beautiful gift.

The very best gift…the gift of Christ’s undeserved and unfailing love… one that comforts yes, more than words can express, but one that changes me completely.

His hands point me to Him- the love that will last eternally. The one death cannot even claim.

How I love my husband’s hands.

#thankfulness #beauty #grace