Growing up, I always hated how my hands looked. I felt I had stubby fingers with no femininity. I tried to make them look better by always having my nails done, and I kept my skin smooth with lotion.
Years later, I was in the hospital with my mom, and I held her hand. As she drew nearer to heaven, I held tighter. It was then I looked down and saw our hands, interlocked, identical. I saw the potential my hands had, to be as hers. While I'll never be the woman she is, I see my hands differently now. I see the beauty. And as I saw this, I reflected on the tender mercies of her hands in my life. I see that I can work, serve, and love as she did. Her hands now live through me.
Reflection
My mother's hands soft and clean
Rub softly on my head
As she sings to me a lullaby
While I lay sleepy in my bed.
My mother's hands rough and warn
As she faces a long, hard day.
Those hands give selflessly
Serving others along their way
My mother's hands warm and safe
Gently wipe away my tears.
She calms my every doubt
She calms my every fear.
My mother's hands aged and whole
Grasp my infant's hand.
As she whispers sweet I love yous
A tender mercy, from where I stand.
My mother's hands are weary
As her spirit is called home.
I hold them tightly, seeing
Her hands are like my own.
This is so beautiful Nicole! You have your mom's talent for writing! She was beautiful inside and out and so are you!
ReplyDeleteYou and your Mom have both been a blessing to our little town. Thank you
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