Nails

My favorite day of the year. The MHMR of the Concho Valley Spring Festival. The day where I get to meet new friends and observe some very special and amazing people-the mentally handicapped. Times have changed so that term is not even PC anymore but to me, they are just people whose minds work in a different way than mine-and I find that totally refreshing. This year Christina and I got the nail painting booth. Best booth of all. As I sat down, I noticed there were rubber gloves at our station. Thinking about painting nails all day and having no idea what types of nails I would come in contact with, I donned the gloves. My first "customer" came. I painted her nails while we chatted. After she left, I looked at my hands, the gloves, the people walking by and it hit me (or God convicted me) that I needed to dispose of the latex barrier-I needed to touch them: every one of them. The gloves came off. As I took each hand in mine that day, I carefully observed the nails: most were yellow, scraggly, half-eaten, completely chewed, split,dirty,

unhealthy nails. Nails were not a priority in their lives. As I carefully took each finger and painted it, I realized what an intimate thing it was-holding their hand in mine-making their nails beautiful-talking to them-making them laugh-listening to their stories-learning about their lives. Each one chose a different color: "red is my favorite color", "I like pink", some just pointed. Each choice unique, like their hearts. Thank you, God, for letting me have a glimpse into their lives through painting their nails.