Look At Your Hands.

I've got this weird obsession with hands. I can't really explain it... This sounds so odd now that I'm writing it down.
But I think that hands are beautiful and tell a story about that person.
Maybe they have long fingers that are used to reach for piano keys.
Or scarred from the hard work of physical labor.
They might be dark and rough from years of age.
Or smooth and plump in youth.

When ever I first meet someone, I look at their hands. Sometimes I just want to hold it, look at all the detail. There's so much meaning.
And when I stand before the Savior, I hope I can be worthy of touching his hands. So I can feel the scars from the nails, when he hung on the cross for me. The hands that prayed for me and saved me from my sin.
Sometimes I look at my own hands and wonder what they say, what story do they tell? ...
One day I want to know... And later I really want someone's to hold too.