If my mom was alive and still walking on this earth, I would be spending this very special day with her. But she is now walking with Jesus in the beautiful gardens of heaven; she is alive and well there and one day I will see her again. So today in honor and in memory of her, I am reposting this poem:

My Mother’s Beautiful Hands

I always remember many cold and wintry nights

 when in a house warm with love, a scene of beauty met my sight;

 My mother sitting so content and so quietly working with her hands.

 An object was forming, a colorful thing which at first I do not understand.

 As her mysterious creation grew and took shape, I knew what it was to be.

 Sometimes a blanket, quilt or doll; perhaps slippers or ornaments for the Christmas tree.

 When finished she gently wraps the gift with care and at the chosen time,

 the treasured gift is given and her deep love brightly shines, warm and genuine.

 Where else could I find such a tender love? Where else would I go?

 Except to my mother’s side, whose warm love could melt a mountain of snow.

 So over the years I kept going home to see my  mom and a gift I did not understand

 being created by her with love and with her warm, gentle, and beautiful hands.