A Mother’s Hands

Inspiration for this poem: The other night as my daughter and I were having a “girls’ night in,” painting each others’ nails, I began doing what many other moms do. Instead of focusing on the moment at hand and the precious memory I was making, I began critiquing my hands and noticing how, with yet another birthday approaching, they were beginning to show my age. At first I felt depressed, then a moment of pride came over me. I realized that my hands look a lot like my mother’s and though they may not be as young, smooth, or soft as they used to be; they have come to symbolize so much more over the years. Moments later, these words poured out of me and I just had to share them with my other “mommy” friends. Sometimes I believe God speaks through me with the gift of writing to inspire other people. So be proud if you have “a Mother’s Hands.”


A little girl’s hands are like butterfly wings

soft and gentle to feel.

So tiny and unaware of the purpose

they will serve when life becomes real.


One day they will hold the hand of another,

their soul’s perfect mate.

Wipe the sleep from their newborn baby’s eyes,

and so begins their ultimate fate.


They’ll spend all day wiping noses

and bottoms and cleaning out ears.

They’ll bandage a thousand boo-boos

and make tummy-aches disappear.


They’ll help dry a tear-soaked face

and wipe sweat from a feverish head.

They’ll comb tangles out of wet hair

and check for monsters under the bed.


They’ll sew a Halloween costume,

make a thousand and one cupcakes.

Do a thousand loads of laundry

and wash a thousand dirty plates.


They’ll sign hundreds of teachers’ notes,

clap with pride as they see a school play.

Lose at Candyland over and over.

Shoot hoops in the front driveway.


They’ll swat a child in frustration,

then later fold in prayer,

asking God for forgiveness

and an ounce of patience to spare.


They’ll hand over the keys of freedom

to a driver who “knows it all.”

And hand over their credit card

to buy a prom dress at the mall.


The years will pass too quickly

and time will begin to show,

in every new vein and wrinkle

and soon the whole world will know …

that she’s no longer a little girl,

a mother she came to be.

Her hands no longer fragile,

but filled with wisdom and strength.


These virtues she will pass to her daughter,

fulfilling God’s ultimate plan …

for women to one day cherish the power

that lies in a mother’s hands.


Passage: What kind of mom are you?


Leave a Comment


  • Elaine

    I felt exactly the same when I the book cover hands photo was taken. I looked at the age spots on my wrinkled hands against my daughter’s smooth skin (even older than your daughter, it still looks better than mine). But just like you, I recovered realizing my hands were my mother’s. My daughter was so honored to be a part of the redone book cover! as was I!!!

    • Traci Sanders

      Being a mother is the biggest accomplishment in my life, Elaine. And being a mother to a daughter has just been the icing on the cake:) Thanks for sharing your story too!

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