My Mother's Hands

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men.

1 Corinthians 12:1 -3

As I look back on my life, I think of many events of my childhood and my life as a young adult. The one thing that stands out when I see a mental picture of my mother is her hands. Those hands were rarely still. They spent time washing and cleaning and cooking for those she love.

Those hands cleaned dishes, little baby bottoms, clothes that we wore, floors, dirty faces, and dirty toilets. With those hands my mother swept and mopped and vacuumed our home. She patted the backs of babies and patted adults for loving support. One touch from those hands and you knew it was all right. Or - that things were not all right. Those hands held a very special fly swatter when I needed a reminder that I was walking down the wrong path or saying disrespectful things.

But those hands were never used without love. Whether holding a fly swatter or a cool rag on a fevered brow, my mother used her hands in love for us – and for the good of God.

Those hands were rarely idle. But when they were, they were generally folded in prayer or holding her Bible. Her Bible remained right by her resting spot during the day – and by her bed at night. It was the last thing she held before closing her eyes in the evening.

The Psalms are the most worn pages of that King James version of the Bible. When I read the Psalms, I remove Mother’s Bible from its safe place and read from there. Those words are so beautiful and give such hope and comfort. I always feel close to Mother when I read them.

There are notes in my mother’s Bible. Some of the columns have my name written in them – with special phrases underlined – a reminder of times when I was struggling with growing up and she searched the Bible for guidance.

Mother read that Bible so much and for so long that my daughter once asked her if she was ever going to finish reading that book! My mother smiled and responded that when she did, she would start it all over again. That Bible is safe and sound in my home – and has one day been promised to my daughter as a loving memory of who her grandmother was and what she believed in.

What a legacy my mother left to her family. Her favorite thoughts underlined, pages folded, prayers and letters stuck between the pages. A well read Bible. A Bible, not put out for show, but read, underlined, dog eared, and very apparently used as a guide for life. Not a table decoration – a road map.

Lord, May my hands always be used as an inspiration to others and as a way to become closer to you. I pray, Lord, that I use the values set in my life to lead others to you. That without even speaking or lecturing or moving - others can see my reliance on You, Lord, and Your Word in directing my life. Amen.