The day my mother went home to be with Jesus was a day I
will never forget. Still etched
upon my mind as her body lay in the bed for us all to visit one last time, I
noticed her hands. “Look how
beautiful her hands are,” I remember telling my sister. I remember my gaze being fixed on
them. It was as if they were
speaking to me kindness, gentleness, and goodness and love.
These were not the hands I remember my mother having as we
were growing up. Her hands were
cracked from hard work. Her nails
never polished. I don’t think she
ever had a manicure in her life.
Often they were stained from some project she had us doing to keep us
busy like making Ukrainian Eggs. I
remember my mom most with her hands covered in dirt for she loved to garden. She was either planting seeds or
tending the plants that were growing up.
The seeds she planted were not just in the soil of the earth, but also
in the soil of her children, which were 7, plus all the other children who she
did seed planting in with Girl Scouts, CCD and Junior Garden Club (just to name
a few). Her hands were dried and cracked from the long hours spent washing
dishes and watering the seeds she had planted in our hearts. I can still see her nails with dirt
under them from the constant weeding she did in her flower gardens and in our
hearts. Her rough hands nourished our bodies with good food to eat and took
care of us when we were sick.
As she knelt by our beds when we were young, her folded
hands taught ours to pray to a loving God.
But now her hands were at rest just as her soul was. She had used her hands for good. Martha seemed the perfect name for my
mother who always was busy serving someone.
Another pair of hands that were just as beautiful were those
I saw during my recovery from surgery.
They were the hands of His body.
The body of Christ in action, the way God designed it to be. Carrying
one another’s burden-lifting each other up in prayer - serving selflessly. These I saw as the body of Christ
expressed its heart of love for my family and me.
Hands of little girls
who drew me get well pictures
Hands that penned
sweet words of encouragement
Hands that folded and
lifted us up in prayer
Hands that prepare
and carried nourishing meals to our family
Hands that brought gifts
to cheer
Hands that took on
dirt to weed my gardens
Hands that wrote
checks to help with the medical bills
Hands that took on
grime to clean my house and do my laundry
Hands that took care
of my physical needs
Hands that were laid
on me with healing prayers
Hands that held mine
and walked with me every step of the way
And of course the most beautiful hands of all.
Hands that catch me
when I fall
Hands that pick me up
again and dust me off
Hands that point the
right direction when I don’t know which way to go
Hands that nudge me
forward when I am afraid to take the first step
Hands reaching out
touching me with healing, comforting my soul
Hands that hold up
the whole world and everything in it
Hands that wrote the
truth
Hands that fed the
multitudes
Hands that cleansed
the leapers
Hands that broke
bread and washed feet
Hands that took up a
gnarled cross and carried it to Calvary
Hands that took the
nails for me
Hands that reach out
still to each of us
Lord, give us your heart of love and let our hands become
your hands to minister to those in need.
