Loving hands held me when I was small, cuddled and fed me and tucked me in at night with a good story. They would pick me up when I would fall, kiss away the hurt and wipe away the tears. Hands would feel my head when I had a fever, dispensing bad tasting medicene with a spoon. Those hands would be there all night in case a cough or fever returned.
Hands would cook good food each day and a finger would shake in my face if I didn't eat. "What about all those starving children in the world?"
Hands would clean and scrub each day making our home sparkle and shine while my brothers and I would invite the dirt back in with each step we took. Those hands would work at the sewing maching making clothes for me and even my dolls.
Hands would hold mine when I was afraid, pack my lunch and wave good-bye when I went to school. Those same hands would spank me when I was bad. But it was for my own good. It kept me from being bad again.
Hands would work hard planting flowers then I would pick them and bring them in for a vase. Those hands let me think that was ok. Those hands endured a pet turtle in my room and even helped clean out the bowl. Those hands made the puppy stay outside.
Hands taught me to peel a potato, sew a stitch and wash a dish. They held the book while it was read and pointed to words I could learn.
Those hands are older now and slower to move, sometimes swollen and filled with pain. The wisdom of those hands has held my babies and caressed their faces.
Those hands taught me to love.
Share some of your Mother's Day memories.