The Beauty of the Human Hand

These are my hands, hands that touch, that give, that create.

These are my hands, though small and without the prototypical slender elegance of fingers. Years dancing upon the keyboard of a computer and other spontaneous acts have rendered them supple, capable of matching the digit-spans of hands inches longer. They skitter in scales, they sing in fugues, they tremble in trills and tremolos — imperfectly, amateurishly, perhaps, yet with love enduring.

They are magic hands, I like to say. Hands that bear way to my various mannerisms. Hands that drive the way through my curiosity. Hands that cook, that clean, that play. Hands that know pencil, paper, and exams too well. Hands that have learned to count: 1, 2, 3, 4,… hands that gripped the monkey-bars of the elementary school playground and learned to avoid cuts and scrapes in a fall. They are hands that tagged the shoulder of the next “It”, that learned not to point or push, but to welcome and wave, that kept a daily round of lonesome basketball-dribbling in fourth grade recess, until, discovering another’s that did the same.

These are hands thatalternatingly leapt towards the classroom ceiling, beckoning to the teacher, please call my name, please let me answer, please! Eventually learning the patience and compassion to encourage fellow persons to discover the joy of truth for themselves. These are hands with flaws, with scar and injury. They are sensitive to the cold, sometimes losing circulation even when gloved against the frosty outdoors, yet they themselves shock when met with a hot, sweaty, and AWESOME hand handshake (especially with my dear friend Katie). 

These are my hands that, to the now, likely, surprise of my parents, love to leaf through books of many authors. To breathe their words, to touch their life-song that tickles from the pulp — to know the working, writing hands of another, even through typed text, their loving caress of thoughts, ideals, imagined worlds; that is the true spirit of reading.

These are my hands that swim in the air as I engage in ecstatic dialogue with my roommates about philosophy after our classes, shaping invisibly the difficult concepts and ideals our minds strive to fathom. What if we cannot be sure of anything at all, even the existence of the hand? Besides, do we not think and feel and know one another — through our hands?

Crucially, my hands are not just mine; but also my fundamental connection to others — my gift and gift-givers to the beings of Earth. Without a voice to speak, I could still with my hands sing: on the strings of my Dad’s old guitar, by which I may share with the audience of a few of my friends; on the small black and red computer Santa once gave me, by which I now compose videos, essays, and more to inspire growth in mind and heart; in the rhythmic beating of drums and random tabletops that energizes the local Zambian children (and inner child in me) to celebrate their life-song in dance; in the cultivating of the seeds of spirit innate in human beings yet shy to sprout towards sun — the educator’s mission I shall pursue even though I choose not the teaching profession. 

These are my hands. Ones that are obsessed, filled with drive, yet still have space to dream, dreams that are coming true as this journey through Zambia continues. Dreams that couldn’t be completed by just my hands, alone. Accompanied by the hands of my fellow Zags, a community stronger than most has been made; one that desires involvement, change, and empathy. In the hands of these wonderful humans, there is a spirit striving — to understand, to imagine, to grow.

We are all capable of this no matter our whereabouts and whether our minds falsely assume “impossible” from possible. I say; we shall be a group of artists, not of appearance, but of action. Ones that have deepened our roots, and will continue to make history with our hands here in Zambezi, and beyond. Ones that are enabled, not just because we feel that we must.

There are my hands, there are your hands, and here are our hands, all capable of the impossible, and everything that may lie beyond that. All of which will continue to write their own beautiful stories, one’s that begun somewhere, were lucky enough to connect here, and will flourish elsewhere.

Mom, Dad, Kathryn, my extended family, my friends, to all of those reading this blog, and more, I reach my hands out to yours and implore you to think through your mind, body, spirit, and most importantly… your hands, and do just as we are here: feel.

Sending my love,

Jackson Schmidt 26’

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9 Responses to The Beauty of the Human Hand

  1. Michelle Doty says:

    Beautiful writing – hope to see pics and compare them to the ones I now hold in my head! Your last paragraph had me so wanting the visual! I have a feeling this special group is going to be very sad to leave.
    XO

  2. Kat Franklin says:

    Jackson this is so brilliantly written. I love reading your blog and seeing all of your incredible adventures! I cannot wait to hear all of your stories in just a couple months!

  3. Bryce Kreiser says:

    Man, cool writing Jackson! Thanks for the reflection.

    I hope you are all well. My name is Bryce, I was a part of the 2019 Zambezi crew. I just finished binge reading the blog to catch up on all your adventures, and it has been a joy to get to know each of you through your words. You’re a sharp, observant, curious, soft-hearted, goofy bunch.

    It’s been a joy, as well, to re-connect (if only as through observation) with Josh, Father Dominic Mizhi, Mama Katendi, Debby and Eucharia, Father Yona, and Jeff. So many truly wonderful, kind people.

    Here I am, in another season of life, 5 years and many seasons removed from my time in that same convent, and it has been a gift to recollect all that I got to experience during my time in Zambezi. Thank you.

    Peace to you all in the name of Jesus. Feel free- Bryce

  4. Natalie Taylor says:

    beautiful beautiful beautiful. i think the human hand shows more about a person than anything else physical can. it shows our scars and our work and is a map of all that we have touched and maybe even more importantly- all that we have been touched by. thank you for this. next year you’re giving me a bracelet tour.

  5. Paris Danko says:

    So beautifully and wonderfully written, I had to read it twice. I can’t wait to hear all your stories when you’re back, but in the mean time, I hope you are having the time of your life!!

  6. Chris Sloan says:

    These hands also calmed, soothed and defended me as I dealt with the initial pain of my injury in Livingstone. Hands that reassured, communicated love and protection. Simple acts often are the most meaningful. Thanks for your beautiful reflection!

  7. Michelle Doty says:

    ❤️ – even more beautiful than I imagined. Love to all of you!

  8. Colleen Schmidt (Jackson’s mom) says:

    Jax, such a beautiful and poetic reflection, you brought a humbled tear to my eye and lump of pride to my throat. So many memories and growth moments in your story, not only for you but for the entire Zambezi Zag family.

    What you are all feeling, with both hand and heart, is extraordinary and rare…an incredible life experience together.

  9. Sherri Lynch says:

    Beautiful reflection, Jackson!

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