My grandpa had 'old' hands. He was old, but his hands were always older. They were always more wrinkled than the rest of him and the skin on his hands was very thin. A scrape to his hand would cause a large portion of skin to just tear off. His hands were always bruised.
I remember when I was younger I would tease my mom about her hands. She inherited my grandpa's thin, wrinkly skin. I used to stare at her hands for long periods of time and try to smooth them out. Of course, at that time my hands were young and firm. I was so afraid I would inherit them. Last night the subject of her hands came up again. We were with friends and she was explaining why she has large purple bruises on her hands. As I sat looking back and forth between her bruised hand and my hands that were beginning to resemble them, I couldn't help but praise God.
See, those bruised, wrinkled, hands of my moms are the same hands that have hugged me when I have been at my lowest. They have reached up and dried tears from my eyes. They have fixed me lunches and bandaged boo-boo's. They have held all 3 of my children and sewn up their favorite blanket or stuffed animal. They have made halloween costumes and crafts for my house. They have held my hands while giving birth and while going through surgery. They have stroked my hair as I have laid on her lap. They have cleaned my room, done my dishes, and ironed my clothes. The have clapped for me and disciplined me. They have held me up when I couldn't do it myself and they have let go when I needed them to. They have tucked me in, felt my head for fever, and they pray for me.
I no longer dread inheriting my moms hands. As a matter of fact, I pray I do.
Happy birthday mom.
I love you.........
To the moon and back!