Marks on my hands

So I'm one of those types of people that do not like to be marked up. I will never have a tattoo, I don't write on myself, and I don't even like marker or pen ink on my fingers.

I really hate when I get paint or stain on my hands and I don't even like nail polish on my nails for that matter. I guess one could say that I tend to lean on the Plain Jane side of things, so to speak. And I'm sorta of a weirdo when it comes to having my hands clean, too. I don't know what you call that sort of disorder, but basically that's me.

Saying all that, ever since school started last fall, the tops of my hands have been marked up. They've had blue letter X's, a red plus here and there, green checkmarks, some orange slashes and a whole load of ink stamps.

I've had red circle stamps, blue illegible sentence stamps and black box stamps with who knows what in written in them, just to name a few. I walk around on a daily basis anymore with either a fresh mark or one that's been scrubbed on but just refuses to leave the crevasses of my poor skin. And last weekend, I had the joy of sporting a couple marks at the same time! One red slash and a shiny blue X!

That Monday morning, as I was driving to work, I glanced at the top of my right hand as it was gripping the wheel and smiled. As much as I dislike being marked up, I was very proud of that fading red slash and muted blue X. Those marks were an indicator of where I spent my weekend. Where I spend many weekend and many weekdays as well. Right smack in a gym, watching one of my babies play ball. Last weekend, I had the joy of watching two of my babies playing games on the same day, so I was blessed with two marks. One from a gym out of town in the morning and the other from our hometown gym in the afternoon and evening.

I reflected on those marks and wondered to myself, how many of those I've had over the years since my daughters started playing sports? Too many to count, I'm sure. I wondered then, how many gyms and fields I've visited throughout the States to get those marks. Oh goodness, how many hours of bleacher time does that add up to? No wonder my stadium chairs are looking so shabby these days. Or, how many countless hours of driving that includes, or hush my mouth, how many dollars were spent for each of those marks? Yikes!

Or of all those marks on my hands over the years, how many of them were wins, how many were losses? How many were given to me right before her best game ever or her worst? What color or shape was on my hand when she made her pitching debut? Or hit the game tying 3 point shot? Which color was displayed for her very first tournament or what color will be there when it's her very last?

So as much as I don't like messy hands, that red slash and the blue X warmed my heart the instant I glanced at them, and instead of bothering me, made me prouder than ever. It made me thankful that I have kids to get to cheer for and thankful that God allows me the opportunity to watch them. But at the same time, it made me sad. Sad to think that someday my hands will be free from the black school logo stamps or green marker checks.

So for now, I will wear my marks with pride and be happy for the memories that came with each one!