Hands
My father was a man of hands and heart. He used his hands to dissect and his heart to teach anatomy at Stanford Medical School. Always voted the favorite teacher of the year, he has been described by the Stanford Medical Magazine as a “world class anatomist, the second DaVinci.” He was a precise and practical man, steeped in the material world, and also one who held great respect for people and nature, but was uncomfortable with that which is not seen. “Mystery” was not in his vocabulary.
One of my fondest memories of him was sitting together at our kitchen table. He held out his hand for some reason and commented, “I know every bone, muscle, ligament, nerve, and vessel in my hand, but I’ll never know how it came to be.”
Since then, I’ve always regarded the human hand as a mystery, as I discovered he did.
For our wedding, nearly 58 years ago, I gave my Beloved a copy of Rodin’s “The Cathedral.” The original is cast in bronze and portrays two right hands, clearly belonging to two different people, gently touching each other. It is in the arc of the hands and the empty space between them that cathedral emerges, bringing a sense of gentleness, peace, and love, evoking divine mystery. My hope was that our marriage could become like a cathedral.
When used to create, reach out, touch, heal, emphasize, point direction, or inspire, human hands are indeed mystery, through which the divine may manifest itself.
I long for many others to embrace this perspective as they use their human hands to grab innocent people from their homes, pull triggers, build assault weapons, steal what is not theirs, destroy villages, or sign in bold ink executive orders that cause harm.
The ending lines of Jane Hirshfield’s poem “A Hand” help me hold true to the highest nature of what is always before us:
“What empties itself falls into the place that is open.
A hand turned upward holds only a single, transparent question.
Unanswerable, humming like bees, it rises, swarms, departs.”
In this time of pain, disaster and uncertainty, when hopeful words escape me, I remember that we can stand with our hands turned upward so that the transparent questions and mysterious responses may find an open place to fall and be cradled before they depart.
Oh Bobbie! Gentle grateful tears slide down my cheeks! So beautifully written and such a poignant reminder. Thank you for your thoughtful reflection that I’ll carry forward. Xoxo Cheryl
Beautiful
Your gentle words and heartfelt thoughts have touched me and leave within me a sense of peace in the midst of chaos ….a sense of hope in uncertainty…
Beautifully written! Thank you for sharing your wonderful writings with us!
God bless you always!
Louise
Love it, The space between the hands like all open spaces is where God joins us.
Lovely and inspiring,
Carey
Thank you
What a thought provoking piece, as all your writings are. I love you and pray for you daily!
Beautiful
My hands are joined on prayer that the troubled world we live in finds love. Love for one another regardless of color, gender, religion, etc. love that leads to caresses instead of hands raised in anger.
Your father was a remarkable man, your marriage is a remarkable partnership and it is remarkable that you are able to receive and then hand off inspiration to all of us!
So uplifting and nourishing to find this post from you, dear Bobbie! Our hands are such tangible, literal and symbolic gifts. I think they are such a powerful bridge between what is obvious and what is so nuanced and deeply spiritual. I appreciate your description and appreciation of your remarkable father. (And I love being introduced to Rodin’s “The Cathedral” here by you!). Blessings flowing out to you!
Oh my dear friend, beautiful in every possible way ~
Your words brought back memories of my mother’s hands guiding my hands when I first started learning to play piano.
Dear Bobbie, Thank you for the grace and generosity of your writing. My father’s hands were that of a farmer – calloused from hard work … yet he held and loved many babies, 10 of us! I am so thankful for your father’s sharing of “I’ll never know how it came to be.” The image of Cathedral is truly beautiful; this is the first time I am learning of it. Such a promising image for a marriage, which clearly has become “Cathedral.” That our hands hold both questions/possibilities and tears/sorrow … is Mystery and gift and beautiful. Thank you for your love.
Beautiful, bushed my heart, to remember this, my hands to always reach out for love for the world and my eyes to see the good in the world when the bad is all to obviously visible. Thank you Bobbi
In my quiet time as I pray I find if I open my hands upwards I receive a message from God. There is “sensation” present that I feel is coming from God. When this happens I tend to spend more time in prayer! Darlene
So beautiful, Bobbie. Thank you.
Dear Bobbie—Your writings are always so thought-provoking. Thank you for your precious gift. Just lovely!! 💕💕💕
Love,
Cheri
My dearest Bobbie… thank you for writing and sharing this stunning reflection! I have always been fascinated by hands…and on the day my son Adam turned one I had our hands cast in plaster…his little hand gently holding my fingers. To this day it is a piece I treasure and am reminded by you that if our hands are used for love God lives in that space between them. XO