If you came over from Encouragement for Today, welcome!
I loved writing My Mother’s Hands because those hands have become precious to me.
They are the “rest of the story”.
They are symbolic of what God can do.
I love my mother’s hands, her heart, and who she is. Who she has become.
I love that when I call, she lights up. That when I spend time with her, it matters. That when I hug her, she leans into that embrace.
When I hold her arthritic hands I see who she is now. More seasoned by time. Hands that want to be busy. Hands that fidget when she’s unsure. Hands that reach for mine.
They also reach for others. A young girl at a local street school who listens to every word as my mom shares her story of giving birth as a young teen, understanding that this women gets it.
They reach for a loved one that doesn’t reach back—yet. Too afraid of what went on in our past, not realizing what the years have done in the heart of my beautiful mom. Her heart hurts at the rejection, but she has hope that one day things will change.
Just as she has changed.
They reach for God. Embracing his grace. His love. Telling others her story, even the painful parts, to give others hope.
As a seasoned mom, I know that there is no perfect mom. As much as I love this role in my life there are times I’ve stood in the dark and said, “God, I have no clue”.
But imperfect or a work in progress or maybe you do have the perfect mom, I hope you’ll take time today and hold your mother’s hands and tell her that you love her.