My Mother's Hands

After two years apart because of many miles, this past week I was able to hold my mother's hands. . .in greetings, in love, in honor.

These hands, frail from time and work, are precious to me and others.

These hands have prepared many delicious meals, baked mouth watering delicacies, sewn wonderful creations to give beauty, pressed dried flowers to send to her grown daughter miles away because she knows it makes the daughter smile.

These hands of hers have folded in prayer so many times. They have lifted in surrender to her Lord, they have folded on behalf of others, they have held on to dear ones and squeezed little children with love.

These hands have gone through much in life, much of not being easy, and yet these eighty-two year old hands live in grace, give grace, give thanks, and even wonderful backrubs that would make the toughest of tough purr.

These hands embrace God's Word, embrace her grown children, embrace the little ones who live next door, makes the little ones birthday cakes and decorates even though they are filled with pain because her giving to others is more important than the aches in the fingers.

This daughter knows when her momma folds her hands in reverence, the Lord hears and seven hundred miles plus down the road, the daughter knows, the daughter feels, the daughter is blessed.

After a week, I had to leave to go back to my home. My mother and I say good-bye the night before as I lay in bed with her. She held me, I held her. Then I quietly left the next morning as she slept. We say goodbye this way because we know we'll both cry and it's easier this way.

The next morning as I rode down the highway for the first 20 miles of hundreds in front of me, my stomach lurched as I shed tears as I thought about my mother and her hands. I knew how much I would miss her. Her hands are precious but even more so is her heart. I pray as the arthritis creeps into my own, I'll always remember the soft touch and love coming from my mother's hands no matter what and how it made me feel. May my own always reach out and touch as hers do and that the beating of the heart comes through as hers does. Mom, you are a shining example. May I follow well.

Honor her for all that her hands have done,
    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Proverbs 31:31