When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer
I sat the more I wondered if she was okay. Finally, not really wanting to disturb her,
but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked if she was okay.
She raised her head and looked at me and smiled.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, Mom," I said, "But you were just sitting here
staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Have you ever looked at your hands," she asked. "I mean really looked at your
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them.
I turned them over, palms up and then palms down.
"No, I guess I have never really looked at my hands," I answered.
Mother smiled at me and said in a sweet, clear voice:
"I've been thinking about these hands I have and how they have served
me well through-out my years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and
weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and
embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed
upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child
my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on
~Author unknown to me~
They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They
held my young husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war. They have
been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were firm, yet gentle,
when I held my newborn son.
Decorated with my wedding band, they showed the world that I was married and
loved someone special. They replied to the letters written home and trembled
and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and watched as my daughter
walked down the aisle.
Yet, they were strong and sure when I grabbed my child and jerked her away
from danger when a car was going too fast, and they clasped my children
lovingly for stitches, broken bones, and measles.
They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in anger when I
didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and
cleansed the rest of my body, and those of my family. From the day a new
baby was born, to the day I washed my first love's body and prepared him for
his final viewing.
They have been sticky, wet, bent, broken, dried, and raw. To this day when
not much of anything else of me works real well, these hands hold me up, lay
me down, and continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where
I've been and the richness of my life.
But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take
when He leads me home.
And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these
hands to touch the face of Christ."
God Bless Christian Mothers!