Order In Chaos

To My Mom

Hands.

I was shutting the door to the car a few months ago, and was struck with the thought, “that’s my mom’s hand.” It was tanned, getting wrinkly, covered in freckles. Nails about the same length (though, not as well cared for). The tendons, veins, lines, shadows…all just like my mom’s.

I thought about what my mother’s hands meant to me.

They held me, fresh into this world, full of awe:

They rocked me to sleep:

They comforted me when I was scared:

…held me when I was sad:

Tickled me into smiles:

And showed me how to have joy:

They worked hard, especially in the garden:

They taught me to celebrate in big ways…

…and little:

They held a world full of wonder:

Taught me the gospel:

And showed me how to create in the world around me:

And now, though far away, they are still reaching and touching the lives of my sons:

Mom, I love you. Thank you for being my Mother.

p.s. I’m glad I have your hands.