When I was in school, and then when I was working in an office, I had a rough, odd-shaped callus on my middle finger, right next to the nail. It was where I always rest my pen while writing. I wrote so much that my finger had molded a callus around where the pen sat. It often caused me issues because of it's proximity to my nail.
These days, that callus is gone. I don't write nearly as much or for any great length of time. Instead, I've traded in that callus for another one. My new callus is at the base of my index finger, just before it hits the hand. It's wider than it is long, almost like the beginning of a ring around my finger.
I was pondering over this callus the other day. It's crept up on me and I wan't sure where it came from. Then while slicing vegetables for dinner, it dawned on me. It's from the knife I use multiple times a day to prepare good food for my family.
I got to looking at my hands, and realized they are not the young, soft hands of a university girl any longer. Nor are they the polished hands of a woman working in an office. I've now got the hands of a mom. These hands spend their days taking care of my family. Along with the callus, I've got multiple small burns from touching a pan that was not yet cool. My hands are also constantly dry and cracking from all the dishes and hand washing I do throughout the day.
Although my hands bare the battle scars of a life filled with cooking and cleaning, I wouldn't trade them for that one lone callus I used to have. I prefer the hands I have now hands. They get to carress my son's sweet face as he cuddles with me. They get to serve my dear husband his dinner after he works hard providing for us. And best of all, they get to hold hands with the two people I love most while we bow our heads and pray.
Yes. I prefer these hands, calluses and all.