Hands! I love the hands of a wise woman. She is elderly in years yet has the wisdom young can only hope for. Her experiences are broad and humbling, yet to be discovered by her juniors. Her gray hair glistens in the sunlight yet pales in comparison to the exquiste beauty within her precious hands. There is great value in those soft aging hands of our mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers. Oh! the babies those hands have rocked gently to sleep, the endless hours of diligently snapping green beans on hot summer days, carefully hand mending clothes, bandaging boo-boos, gentle weeping over things she wishes she could have prevented. And most of all the endless hours on her worn knees with folded hands in prayer to the Father asking for provision, love and protection for her children and family. Her hands with every wrinkle, crease, age spot and scar reveal the real story of life without ever saying a single word.