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Alabaster skin.
Graceful.
Smooth.
Soft.
These are not my
hands.
Marked by pale
white lines of scars, memories of the past.
Broken by
patches of skin torn away by table corners.
Interrupted by
red-rimmed burn marks seared into flesh from careless baking.
Thin cuts from
hurried zucchini slicing.
Dried by wind.
Knobbed by
computer use.
Calloused by
weights and guitar strings…
My hands see
work. My hands do not often rest.
Busy with work.
Busy with
school.
Busy in making a
home even if only a home for myself.
“Go to the ant…”
There is a
glorification of busy, but “idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. While busy can distract, the mind wanders to
dark places in moments of rest. Daily
life is a balance of finding the quiet and being productive. It leaves scars and tears and burn. It drains and dries. It makes the heart long…
Long for rest
without temptation.
Long for work
without exhaustion.
Long for
productivity without pride.
There is miracle
in the monotony as my eyes are drawn upward to that which I even my imagination
can hardly grasp. These scars remind me
of the fallenness of this world and long for things to come.
3 comments:
I enjoyed reading this--I definitely relate to the balance between busyness and silence/reflection. I want to learn better how to engage and the darkness and learn from it instead of running from it. Starting from the detail of your hands and how they reflect your daily life was a cool way to draw us in.
Enjoyed your post. I definitely relate to the tension between busyness and silence. I want to learn how to engage the darkness and learn from it rather than running away. Starting from your hands and how they reflect your daily life was a cool way to draw us in.
Thanks for the feedback! I'm glad I'm not the only one who struggles with this.
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