My Mother’s Hands

Keep it real Wednesday

My Mother’s Hands

September 30, 2020

I was sitting next to Rosemary in church last weekend and glanced at the tiny hands in her lap.  I studied them for the first time in a really long time. They were smaller than I remembered, and looked very fragile.  When did her hands look so old?  I was flooded with memories of her hands over the last six decades

My mind wandered…

I reflected on a children’s book I had read years ago when my kids were small titled “My Mother’s Hands”.  I searched the house that evening and found the well-worn paperback tucked away.

Tears streamed down my face as I read that book from a different perspective.  I read the book as a daughter, instead of as a mother.

 “My Mother’s hands are generous and kind.  They show me how to give.”

“My Mother’s hands are clever and busy.  They let me be part of her world.”

“My Mother’s hands can do anything.  They are gentle and strong at the same time.”

“My Mother’s hands hold inspiration.  They help me, support me, guide me.”

“My Mother’s hands hold me, even as they let me go.”

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