This is a picture of my mother. She died on Mother's Day 1993
Mom was a wonderful cook, gardener, and when we lived on
the farm she was a good vet. She had a way with sick animals.
She also crocheted and was an avid reader. It was from her that
I first learned about Jesus. She was a shut-in for several years
before her death and I never once heard her blame God for It.
She had a great faith! Today's poem honors my mother.
MY MOTHER'S HANDS
There was this gift that understands,
In the touch of my mother's hands.
The hands that held mine on a cold, dark night,
Reassured me that things would be alright.
Her cool touch on my fevered brow
Always made me feel better somehow.
There was this gift that understands,
In the touch of my mother's hands.
When disappointment spoiled my day
Her gentle touch made it go away.
When some naughty deed brought me shame,
I'd feel her touch, hear her call my name.
I always knew by her touch and glance,
That I'd been given a second chance.
It was God above I understand...
That gave that special touch to my Mother's hands.
When she stands before Him,
I know the first thing He'll see,
Are those special hands,
That meant the world to me.
Freda Fullerton
May 8, 2011
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