If you look at a farmer's hands, you will find that they are rough and probably permanently stained in places the color of dirt, and they will have scars. They are callused. This comes from years of tilling the land and tending to everything that keeps the farm running like a well-oiled machine. A farmer is up at dawn and only relaxes when his work is done. 

The farmer is proud of his land, and he is proud of his family. He doesn't take time to look in the mirror when he rises because is herds don't really care that he greets them with food, and he is unshaven. His wife loves him even when he tracks in the dirt from the fields because she knows he is doing the hard labor for her and the family. There are somedays he will come in at sundown, eat his dinner, and fall asleep in his chair with very little to say. He will take the time needed to, though, when the kids have a school program or a ball game to attend, but he does so as he is, dirty overalls and muddy boots. Most nights, he will be there tucking in the kids and push back their hair with his callused hand to kiss their foreheads.

The farmer is a man of pride and will exhaust all his efforts to take care of all things and never ask for help. He knows it's his responsibility to provide the means to keep his family warm and fed. 

Occasionally, the farmer and his wife will sit together on the couch and hold hands and talk. The wife can feel his callused hand in hers and think quietly to herself how sorry she feels for him because what he does has hardened his hands. Sometimes, she will let a tear run down her face from the thought of all he does for the family and how she could never repay him. 

Now, the farmer will see these tears, wipe them away with his callused hand, and tell her this: 

My hands are not soft, and my work is plenty. You only think that my calluses are stopping me from feeling like you do; my scars and my calluses speak to me. They tell me that I have done a good job. They remind me how far I have come. My hands feel like yours do but in a different language. When I work the fields or feed the herd, I am not just doing it for you and the family; I am doing it for me. If I allow my hands to soften, I will soon forget all that I have achieved.

Our sense of touch is different for each of us. Whether your hands are soft or rough the way you feel things is a language. When I rub my hands across a fluffy cat, my hands relay a message or a memory to my soul that it feels like peace. When my hands are dried with dirt, it relays to my soul that I have connected with the thing that gave me life. When I submerge my body in a hot bath and I'm washing away the stress and dirt of the day, it reminds me I can always have a fresh start. The farmer spends his days working but is listening to his language touch as well.

The next time you touch something, and it triggers a thought, a feeling, or a memory, take the time to listen to it because it's talking for a reason.