Today’s word is Human, and the prompt was pictures of hands. The first thing that comes to mind is that hands tell one’s story. Whether they’re small, big, old and wrinkled, young and supple, hands tell the condition of one’s life.
Hands can do good, and hands can be complicit in evil acts. Hands can be clenched and hands can be outstretched, palms to the sky. Hands can pray to many gods.
By looking at my hands, one would notice that my nails are short, my fingers long and slender, and in general, my hands are not calloused from labor-intensive work. Instead, they’ve held pieces of chalk and scribbled on a blackboard. They’ve touched hundreds of papers of assignments and essays of students. They’ve graced the keys of a piano with skill and dexterity. They’ve wiped my own tears countless times, prayed with grandparents, and squeezed the shoulder of a niece or nephew.
They’ve also pointed at someone, slapped a person, slammed down things in anger. They’ve been on my hip in disobedience.
I choose for my hands to do good things. To pray to the God, the only true God. I choose to keep my hands ever out-turned and reaching towards the heavens. I will consider the stories of countless others, as often shown by their hands, as to not judge someone before I know them.
Readings for today:
mercies per mile 
I love your writing. Your hands have also very thoughtfully made things for my children, that are now in safekeeping. Your hands have started your Garmin in honor of my brother. Your hands are very much appreciated, and I am so blessed to call you a friend. May we meet someday, darn it!