When Emmie and her family were here this summer, she asked to recreate a photo she saw on Pinterest. Three generations of married women. I’ve taken to calling it the “hands of time,” which is, well, self-explanatory!

It’s a neat picture, but what I like about it is everything you don’t see. Like, for instance, the three men to whom we gave these hands at altars, long ago, or the nine human beings that they are responsible for building up. Behind this photo are thousands of meals prepared, loads of laundry washed, and miles driven. There are snotty noses, dirty bottoms, vomit-laced hair, and thermometers either being shaken down, or turned off after use, depending on the generation using them.

What about the hundreds of books held, with a child tucked close, enthralled? Don’t see those. You also don’t see the boo-boo’s that have been doctored and kissed away, or the monsters deftly swept out of closets and from under beds. Absent are bits of paint and glitter from science projects and dioramas, and missing are the little hands held by those represented here, as the basics of prayer are handed down.

Beyond this picture, are the husband hands we’ve held, walking silently together, or the whisker-covered chins we’ve lifted up in support. Just out of the frame are the beloved bodies we’ve held close through both sunny and stormy times.

No, you don’t see any of that, but you do see generations of commitment. You do see belief in a system ordained by a good God, and three very grateful recipients of His great blessing.

You do see love.

The “Hands of Time.” They’ve certainly stood the test of time, and told its story well.

Maybe it’s a pretty accurate name, after all.

“She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,and keeps them all busy and productive.  Her children respect and bless her;her husband joins in with words of praise…” Proverbs 31:27-28 MSG