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She said to her husband one evening…”Here’s something I don’t understand… how in the world have I acquired so many lines upon my hands So many tiny creases…so many wrinkles…so many veins and spots and folds. When…oh when…I wonder…did my hands become so old. Her husband took her hands in his saying, “In all the years we’ve been married…all the years together we have grown…I think I probably know your hands even better than my own.. When I look at your two hands…the two hands of my best friend…my wife I see all the balance and the beauty they have added to my life. When you look at your hands ”I think you, too, should be thrilled…. at all the hopes and dreams and wishes your two hands have fulfilled. Your hands have helped to guide our family…that’s been no easy feat… Look at all the times we’ve fallen and your hands have helped us back upon our feet. Think of all the the ways your hands have nursed us night and day…think of all the faces they’ve cleaned…all the tears they’ve wiped away. Think of all the love your two hands have joyously revealed… all the scrapes and scratches and bruises your two hands have helped to heal. Think of all the cookies your two hands have baked for our children and grandchildren too…Think of where we’d all be…without your two hands…and you. Your hands have kept us safe and warm…happy and well-fed…think of all the pages they’ve turned…all those bedtime stories read. Think of all the letters your hands have written…all the good things they have done… Think of all the lives they’ve touched…all those flowers they’ve planted in the sun. Think of how your hands…though silent…have the ability to say so much… with a soft caress…a warm embrace…a kind and gentle touch When I look at your two hands all these years of holding us…helping to guide us through…I have often wondered to myself…is there anything they cannot do? So I can say with true conviction…as I hold your hands in mine…. each wrinkle has formed with elegance and richness and beauty…. two hands aged to perfection…just…like a fine wine.
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