The Hand

Many years ago now, I left a "Yankee Swap" party with an extra hand.

It was a ceramic hand, white and glossy, and stood about a foot high. Although originally meant to display jewelry or gloves, it turned out to be a gag gift at the holiday gathering I was attending. Unwittingly I picked it from among the wrapped offerings and instantly fell in love.

As the selection process resumed, I quickly warned the others not to even think about taking it from me. The hand and I made a perfect match.

Mostly the hand stayed on the counter, next to a cylinder filled with spoons, spatulas, and other assorted cooking utensils. Once in awhile it was placed on our dining room table, as a centerpiece of sorts. We even slipped a gold hoop earring on the third finger one afternoon, announcing the hand's engagement to the other kitchen accoutrement. 

But for all her sleek quirkiness, the hand was not particularly steady. And this week, while wiping up a few crumbs, an inadvertent bump caused the hand to toppled over and snap.

Fragile. Mortal. And perhaps because of this, much beloved.

"I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God's hands, that I still possess." - Martin Luther