My Mother's Hands

My Mother's hands are tired and worn. The skin is cracked, the wrinkles are deep; The knuckles are swollen and red with pain. "Years of labor of love" is the message emitted.

Though her hands appear unattractive And though they are wrinkled with age; These were the hands that once lifted me up To face life with determination and courage.

Though her hands are now so very weak These same hands wiped away my tears; They comforted me in my hour of need, And soothed away my childhood fears.

These were the hands that wiped my brow When fever raged and health was not whole; Her comforting words and her loving touch Brought healing to body, mind, and soul.

Now tired and worn with bulging veins Her hands are unappealing and seem useless, But these were the hands that washed my clothes And showed me the path of self-forgetfulness.

My Mother's hands reached out for others And ministered to those who were not well, Her loving hands tended to all their needs, Indeed, her old hands have a great story to tell.

My Mother's hands folded in prayer for The God of Heaven to watch over her family And keep them safe from the evil one And finally be saved for all eternity.

Many of her prayers were answered for They moved the Arm that moves the world. Her prayers had always been for Daily needs and the salvation of souls.

My Mother's hands reached out to Glory And clasped the hand of her loving Savior Who died for her on the cross of CalvaryAnd showed her tender mercy and loving favor.

Now resting in Jesus, peaceful and sweet My Sweet Mother, wrinkled, tired and worn Had ceased from her labors on this earth Soon to be awakened in the Resurrection morn.

Then, in Heaven and in the Earth Made New My Mother's hands would once more Resume their labor of love inServing Jesus her King forevermore.

Copyrighted © Lydia Haga 2004