These Old Hands

I looked at these old hands today and I saw my mothers hands. Then the memory's began to flow through my mind, so I shut my eyes and I could see my mothers hands changing through the years.  I saw them so clearly in my mind from when they were young and without a single vein. They were so soft and her nails were always so pretty and clear.  Her hands would hold her harmonica to her lips and tap out sweet tunes without a single lesson. She could hold a blade of grass just right in her hands and whistle  really loud. Those hands held me when I cried as a child and held my hand  so sweetly when she knew her time to say goodbye was near.


Now the hands I am staring at are the hands that might be remembered by our  children and grandchildren. My hands have held each  one by one. They have held their bottles as they nursed, changed many diapers, and held them tightly as I rocked them. These hands have held them as they walked their first steps, wiped many tears away, and picked up a lot of toys . These hands have clapped at their school functions and waved many goodbyes.

These hands have held my husbands countless times and the ones he trusts to help him in life.   

My hands have worked hard. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They trembled and shook as I buried my mother and stood holding another's at so many funerals of those gone on. They have combed my hair, washed my body, and put makeup on my face for years.
When the rest of my body is tired, these hands hold me up and lay me down.

These hands have held each other in prayer and held the one at each meal beside me. These hands will be the ones that God will reach out and take hold of as he takes me home. And these hands will be the ones that I touch his face for the first time. And when I look at my old and wrinkled hands, I will see the ones that God blessed me to do the things he planned. 

I look at these old hands today and wonder what my mother thought about hers....