In England a certain well-known lady of title always wore gloves; she was never seen without them. One day her young son burst into her room and caught her unawares. In confusion, she sought to cover her hands, but he had seen them! In horror he shrank from the sight, for they were terrible to behold.
Rising up, the mother closed the door, saying: "Now, my boy, we are alone. You are old enough to hear about these terrible scars, and maybe they will help you realize how dear you are to Mother.
"When you were quite little, a fire broke out in the castle. The nursery was in the turret, and you were asleep there. Your nurse had fled for safety from the flames, leaving you to certain death.
"You know the old ivy branches clinging to the tower? Well, up these I climbed to the little window by your bed. I managed to crawl through; and taking you up, I swung you in a coverlet over my shoulder.
"How I prayed for strength as I began to descend! The extra weight was almost more than I could bear, and the ivy was giving way under our weight. Clinging and sliding from branch to branch I reached the ground. The flesh was completely torn from my hands, but you were saved.”
With one bound the boy threw himself into his mother's arms. Then taking her poor scarred hands, he kissed them over and over again. Then he asked for her one favor that when they were alone together she would not wear gloves. He wanted to keep before him what those hands had done for him. To him, they were beautiful hands!
Dear one, have you beheld the nail-pierced hands of the Savior? Have you realized that it was for you He bore the agony of those spikes? Can you now say: "He is altogether lovely"?