His Hands {Five Minute Friday}

On Fridays the writers gather at Lisa Jo’s. We write in five minute increments like ones scared braved.  We’re not supposed to edit or backtrack or overthink, though everyone confesses to at least once and that’s why there’s grace for even the most ordinary or writing tasks.

Except on Fridays five minute ordinary becomes extraordinary. Link up here and give us your five minutes. Today’s prompt is…

Hands

Your thumb rubbed small circles on the base of mine the whole time the preacher spoke the words. Soothing away my nerves and leading me to a place of fine calm where there was only us.

We were barely twenty-two and the ink had barely dried on the diplomas that tipped in our fingers a few weeks before.

Fingers stroke the tiny curls that spring forth from behind my ears whenever there is rain and let go of the wheel to hold my hand and force away distractions when we drive winding roads or busy interstates or mountain passes. You hold tight when we bless our food and sometimes you don’t let go even though you know that makes me crazy because I can’t eat with my left.

Whispers soft in the dark night and hands rub circles on the backs of babies and toddlers who curl tight between us in the bed you’re always reaching across to find me.  Stroking gently on all the places where I feel least beautiful, over stretch marks where I grew our babies, and wrinkles where I crease my head with worry.

Hands that crunch the numbers and wash the dishes and fold the tiny laundry and hold the newborn kittens. Hands that are stronger than our weaknesses.

It was dark and cold and maybe even a snowflake or two was falling from the sky when we walked around that mountain chapel one college night and you took my hand.

And led me home.