WOW! I sure have not blogged for a long time..SO much catching up to do but first I wanted to post this piece about hands. On the CQI group, at the beginning of each month Leslie E will post Victorian Symbolysm, this month of July has been Hands and the meanings of different positions of hands and what they mean.. This struck such a chord for me as the last thing I ever did for my mother was to read this beautiful piece at her funeral which is about hands...everyone asked how I could possibly get up in church and speak, but I knew it was the last thing I would ever do for her and I did it...
My mother had very bad arthiritis in her hands all her life. She remembered seeing Drs. for this as young as 8 yrs. old..she was 97 when she passed away.. All her life she kept her hands busy, busy, busy and always told us girls to do the same...she was very aware of her crooked fingers and many comments were made of her hands all her life..when I came across this piece called "My Hands" it reminded me so much of my mother.
This is what I read at her funeral...as though she were speaking herself...
My Hands....author unknown to me
Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have,
how they have served you well throughout your years.
These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled, and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and embrace life.
They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.
They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back.
As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.
They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots.
Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.
They held my husband and wiped my tears when he became so ill.
They wrote letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and my spouse.
They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn children.
They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent.
They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when there were things I didn"t understand.
They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and clensed the rest of my body.
They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw.
And to the day when not much of anything else of me worked real well,
these hands held me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer.
These hands are the mark of where I"ve been and the ruggedness of life.
But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when He leads me home.
And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ.....the end
So now ladies when things aren"t going so good and someone says to you, "we have to play the hand we are dealt", I think it will all be ok in the end...
More catching up this week with pics and everything...
