(…my computer was down for weeks. I wrote this for Mother’s Day, but couldn’t publish it. So, I’m publishing it in honor of Mother’s Day Month. We can have that, right?! 😉 ).
The rolls would be piping hot, right from the oven. She would grab them, with bare hands, pop them open, and butter enough to feed 20+ hungry people. I remember thinking, “I want hands like hers.”
She would (and still does) prepare Sunday lunch for 20 people without recipes and without measuring. She plants and grows beautiful flowers. She seems to know everything about gardening. She can plant and harvest a garden. I watched her raise and groom dogs. I watched her create clothing and crafts at her sewing machine. All the while, I thought to myself, “I want hands like hers.”
The whirl of the sewing machine created the ambiance for my childhood. I watched in amazement at the skill and speed of her hands at the sewing machine creating perfectly frilly frocks for me and perfect crafts for any occasion. Anything she sets her hands to comes out perfectly (whether she thinks so or not). I always think, “I want hands like hers.” Her cool hand on my feverish face always made me feel better. Her hand playing with my hair always put me at ease. Even now that I’m grown, her hand on my back makes me feel like everything will be okay. I want hands like her.
She gives selflessly without a thought to her own desires. She always has.
Her hands have rocked my baby to sleep and soothed him when I had no idea how to soothe him during his first weeks of life.
Her hands have taught me how to cook, how to care for my family, and how to show love to my babies. Her hands have taught me how to pray and how to reach for God until I can feel His hand on my face.
I want hands like hers.
I’ve heard both women say their hands look old, ugly, or worn out. I see them as symbols of my childhood and my aspirations as a woman of God and a mother.
When I prepare a meal (and burn my hands in an attempt to handle too-hot food), I feel like I’m on my way to having hands like my Mama.
When my baby relaxes and closes his sleepy eyes when I brush his hair off his face, I feel like I’m on my way to having hands like my mom.
Hands that love, soothe, teach, create, provide, nurture, and pray.
I am beyond blessed to have these women in my life as my mom and mama. I couldn’t ask for more talented or faithful women as examples to follow. They have modeled for me the things that really matter – mothering in everyday moments, providing your best for your family, and showing love just by letting a gangly, chatty, tween watch and try her best to be a little more like you.
I pray I remember these things as I raise my family. I pray my hands pass on the love that I’ve felt
from the hands of these women. I pray I can pass on the same faith that they’ve passed on to me.
“I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, dwells in you as we’ll.” -2 Timothy 1:5