her hands, my hands

my mom has never particularly liked her hands. but to me, they are beautiful. they are beautiful because of how she uses them. because of what she does with them. her hands are an expression of her life. 

with her hands she hugs tightly.

 with her hands she tickles greatly.

with her hands she listens to words spoken in earnest. sweet little words that may not have much import, but that she deems to be precious and worthy of her time.

 with her hands she cuddles.

with her hands she gives the most wonderful back scratches. scratches that say, "i have the time for you. i'm going to stop everything else that seeks for my attention, and spend it on you. because you are special. you are important. you are loved."

her hands make you want to reach out with love in return. they are a place of comfort and encouragement. 

her hands have spent many hours changing diapers, cooking food, giving baths, tucking in beds.
they have turned the pages of many books and washed many, many clothes.
they have put on sunscreen, helped with homework, baked special cakes and wrapped many gifts of love.
her hands have served for many years with only the love that can come from the time her hands spend turning the pages of His Word, learning who He is and how to be like Him.
out of the overflow of her heart her hands serve.

my hands are just like her hands. they look very much the same. as i look at my hands i pray that they are used in the way that hers have been and continue to be.
mom, i love your hands. i love you.