I used to not like my hands, blocky and sturdy with thick knuckles, not dainty and delicate in the least. I always thought mine were better suited for a plow than a piano.
I told my mom this once. She held up my hands and called them beautiful. She said, “just think of what these hands will do, what they will create, who they’ll care for. These are hands that can accomplish things, that will get things done. Love your hands,” she told me, “and they will serve you well.”
As I was drawing this calendula, I was reminded of that conversation. It’s a sturdy little plant, easy to grow, easy to collect seeds from. It’s not flashy, it doesn’t have curly petals, it’s not a deep scarlet or royal purple. But it can feed us, it can be made into medicine. It’s happy, just with sunshine and a little rain. It’s beautiful because it knows its purpose and fulfills it with everything it’s got.
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