Mama's Hands

Have you ever seen the movie "Beaches?" I love the movie. I cry every time I watch it ... I love movies that make me cry and ones that make me think. "Beaches" does both.

The entire movie is based on the friendship of Hillary and CC. Two girls from completely different backgrounds. We watch them become childhood friends and follow that friendship through adulthood. One scene in particular captures me. Hillary had found out she is ill and dying. Her little girl is sitting on the beach with her and makes a comment that they have the same hands. Hillary begins searching for a picture of her mother's hands. It was extremely important to her and CC (her friend) helps her find it. She holds the picture and compares her hands to those of her mother.

As I look through pictures of my own mother, I see the resemblance in my hands to hers. But, it's not the physical comparison that matters most to me. It's the emotional, spiritual comparison that I'm after.

Her hands held me when I was a baby, when I cried and wanted rocking. Her hand held mine while I learned to walk and her hand let go at just the right time for my independence.

Those same hands administered a swat to my backside when necessary. Which seemed to be rather often for me ... I was strong willed and still am.

Her hands could be found baking various things during the holidays. I recall a family friend who moved away and when I saw him years later ... his first comment was "Does your mom's kitchen still smell good?" I looked at him oddly ... and he said "What, you don't know what I'm talking about? You're mom was always baking something and it always smelled so good. I could go for some of her cinnamon rolls right about now."

Those hands decorated our home with Christmas ornaments. They washed my clothes and my face. They held me when I was a teenager and needed a safe place to figure out how to make my own way in this crazy world.

They wiped away tears of disappointed when I lost my first art competition, broke up with my boyfriend and buttoned up my wedding dress. They were there when I had my first miscarriage.

Those hands folded in prayer for me, my sister and our own families.

All of these things were done with two hands.

I stretch my own hands out and look at them. What are my hands doing? Do my boys have my hands? And, what will my boys remember about my hands?

My prayer is that I am using my hands for the purposes God intended. I want them to give love to my husband and boys. I pray they are a safe place for my children and a comfort when my boys need someone to hold them.

What are your hands doing? Whether you are a father, mother, daughter, son or somewhere in between ... God has a purpose for your hands ... for you.

Proverbs 22:6 "Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it."

Proverbs 14:1 "The wise woman builds her house. But the foolish pulls it down with her hands."