I look down at my hands. My cracked, wrinkly, polishless hands and think, "How did they get so old?"
And then I see that my old hands are holding my son's sweet innocent hand. Then I remember that these hands are the hands of a Mommy. The hands that are comforting my sick son today as he sniffs and coughs with a double ear infection, my hands are there to wipe his nose and hold him tight. To make it all better.
These hands cook the meals for this family and wash their clothes.
These hands give pats on the head and throw baseballs to kids out in the yard.
These hands hold my husband's in a stolen moment just to say I love you.
These old, wrinkly hands help with homework.
These hands fold in prayer.
These hands are my hands and the biggest compliment I could get are that these hands are starting to look like my own mother's hands. The hands that did all those wonderful things for me. I love her hands and am proud to say that my hands are taking after her hands.
The Place Where All the Fun Happens
20 hours ago