This is the week that I will stand in the card aisle at my favorite store and sob. Okay, I sob other times in the card aisle because seriously, those cards can really get to me (who writes those things anyway??). The sentiments in the Mother Day’s cards echo the exact same sentiments I have of my own mom. Even though her mind might not always know who I am, I am 100% convinced that her heart knows exactly who I am. I am hers.
These hands are my mother’s. I think they are the most beautiful hands in the entire world. When I look at her hands, I think about what all those hands have done for me.
Those hands held me gently after a VERY long and difficult labor and delivery. Those hands guarded me closely when I started to walk. Those hands picked me up when she was feeding my baby sister in the middle of the night (because I just HAD to know what was going on). Her hands held mine when she walked me to my first day of kindergarten.
Those hands sewed countless elf hats and boots (complete with jingle bells) for the kindergarten Christmas program. Yes, she did it without one complaint. Her hands sorted through mounds and mounds of Girl Scout Cookies when I volunteered her to be the cookie chairman (and that was a record breaking year for our troop so when I say lots of cookies, we had lots of cookies). Her hands were the first to clap after my solo in 1st grade (and yes, she helped make the ballerina costume, gosh it was pretty). I am sure it sounded horrific (for one, I cannot sing a note and secondly, I was sick that day so that certainly didn’t help). Those hands also disciplined me when I was sassy (and I must say I deserved it)) and wiped away tears of those oh so difficult first love breakups. Those hands held back my hair whenever I had the flu and then she would wash my face. Her hands worked hard hours in a factory so that she could help provide for us and make sure that we did not go without.
Those hands fanned both of us when we would sit on the porch in the middle of the summer (she was hot because she was going through the change and I was hot because I was 7 months pregnant). I think about her hands that were wiping away her tears as I was being wheeled down to delivery. Those hands were so tender when I placed her first grandchild in her arms.
But I think the most thankful thing I am about my mom’s hands is that she was a praying woman, and I saw those hands folded in prayer many, many times. THANK GOD she was a praying woman. I am sure there were times she wanted to throw her hands up in the air and say I give up. BUT those praying hands got her daughters to church and got her grandkids saved and baptized. Without a doubt in my mind when my Mom folded her hands to pray, her kids were the first thing she talked to God about.
And as life goes, it’s now my turn to hold her hand. Life can be hard and unfair and unkind. My hands are the ones that can feed her a meal, paint her fingernails, fix her hair, or turn the pages of a book. I look at her hands and I think about how much they mean to me, what all they did FOR me, and how those hands shaped me into who I am today.
Yes, my mother has the most beautiful hands. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
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