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.