My first thought was way back to when I was a little girl living in Longmont, Colorado. We had this big tree in our front yard and remember how my brothers and I would climb up in that tree. Then I quickly jumped over to my cousin Shanna's house. Oh, that place was so much fun. My Uncle Harold had so many things that we could play on. I think maybe I remember a tree house or some place with a door and my hand knocking on that door. I so wanted to get in, but my cousin Shanna (who I love a lot) and my brother
(who I also love alot), I think it was Brad, were not being so nice to me. They knew this song that I did not know, so I couldn't be in their club. The song was "Sha na na na, Sha na na na, Hey Hey, Good-Bye". They would sing it over and over taunting me while my hands were knocking on that door and tears were brimming in my eyes. Maybe that is where my first wrinkle came from.... (btw - no hard feelings Brad and Shanna, just maybe when you guys have another "secret" song you could share it with me next time)
Then off my mind jumps to our next house in Illinois. It was an older house with beautiful wood (I can only appreciate the wood now that I have the wrinkles on my hands). The previous owners had painted many many layers of paint over the wood. Since maybe my Mom and Dad already had some wrinkles and could appreciate the wood, they decided we would strip all the paint. I remember being upstairs and painting on some stinky stuff that would make the paint bubble up and get soft, then taking a tool and scraping and scraping and scraping off that paint to finally reveal the beautiful wood door. Maybe the wrinkle I got from that experience has helped me to appreciate the hidden beauty of experiences that God has thrown my way.
Then off my mind jumps to highschool. Have you ever been dining at a restraut - lets just say a buffet where you have to use multiple plates. Well, who washes those 5 dirty plates that you use. Well, for a couple of years it was me. My first job was at Ponderosa as a dishwasher. I so longed to be a waitress, so I would work harder and harder thinking the managers would notice my hard work. I was pretty fast at washing all those brown bins piled high with dishes, silverware, cups. My hands could grab those plates, bang it against the garbage can to get off the excess food, the take the sprayer and rinse, put in the the diswasher rack and push it through faster than any other hands there. After being a dishwasher girl for a long time, I finally got moved "up" to kitchen. My hands didn't particularly like this job as I ended up with many burns from lifting heavy pans of baked potatos from the steaming hot ovens and frying fries and grease splattering up onto my hands. I finally was able to use my hands to serve people. I enjoyed being a waitress. I think my hands may have even served my husband before I knew him. His parents used to give him money to go out to eat on Sundays while at college and I remember serving this good looking guy that would come alone on Sundays. Maybe, just maybe that was him, but apparently my stunning waitress oufit, my black pants with grease stains and my white button down shirt with more grease stains and that oh so cute green apron over top, was not enough to get his attention to ask me out there, I had to wait....And there is the story of yet another wrinkle and even a few burn scars.
On down the road, Ben and I were blessed with our second child. And my hands were busy taking care of our newborn baby. Our daughter Aubry (who was 2 at time) also used her hands to help. I layed Isaac on my bed to get him ready for his first bath. Aubry stayed on the bed to "watch" him as I went to test the water with my hands to see if it was lukewarm. I ran a little bath for Isaac and got the towel and soap ready. I went back into the bedroom to get him and Aubry's little hands had completely undressed him. I have no idea how she got all those baby clothes off as some of them seem to need a rocket scientist to use. Maybe - her first wrinkle - I don't know, only she will know.
As I look at my wrinkles I am reminded of the little things they have done every day. And I pray and hope my hands will keep on doing those little things, because they will end up having so many great and wonderful wrinkle memories on them that will last forever.....
