The arms that rocked me

As is always fitting on a bright Mother's Day Sunday, Pastor Don preached a message all about mothers today. He quoted from an old poem, you may have heard it: The Hand that Rocks the Cradle. 

It got me thinking about those hands who did so much more than just rock a cradle. They cleaned, they bandaged wounds, they caressed my hair, they taught me to crochet, they showed me how to knead bread, they held my own as we walked down the street. Those arms held me tight on countless occasions, from the rocking chair when I was a child unable to sleep, to the floor when I collapsed in distress, to the airport as I left home... and they are always open to me. 

Those hands that I know so well, always moving, always busy, always fulfilling another need. Those hands and the woman to who they belong have taught me well. About life and love and faith; about work and rest and play; about tears and joys and pain; about gentleness and strength and endurance. 

This Mother's Day, I am thanking God for those hands, those hands who have influenced countless lives besides my own and which I hope to one day be able to mimic with my own.