Today is my mother’s birthday. How can I honor a mother such as mine? Never adequately. I can only share some of what she give to me and attempt to follow her example of loving God and people. One of the lessons she taught me with her life was, “No tangible gift received is too valuable to share with someone in need.” Below is prose I wrote in 2014 as part of an online writing community. I hope it will give you a sense of my mother. Happy Birthday, Mom.
By the time I knew her, brought into this world through her womb and love, the Father’s and my parents, her hands were worn.
I never saw them with polished nails but I saw them dirtied by labor and washed clean after dishes or laundry.
I never saw them clenched, although I know there were times that she was angry.
I did see them closed in prayer. Oh, how she prayed, not only for her biological children (and there were enough of us to keep her prayer list filled) but also for extended family members, and for neighbors, and for pastors, and missionaries. Oh, how she prayed.
She would often touch my head as she walked by. Sometimes, I would be startled because I was caught up in the books that I devoured regularly. She would speak volumes in her loving touch, without saying a single word.
My mother’s hands. Thankful. Thankful. Thankful.
