<\/p>\n
Sometimes my mom talks with her hands
\nAs if what is bundled inside
\nHer feelings, thoughts, emotions, meanings, motives, intentions, passions
\nAll that constructs the fluid terrain of intangibles
\nWithin this elemental entanglement
\nWere locked and needed escape
\nAnd could only through painting a narration
\nIn the dance of her fingers
\nThe slide of her palms
\nThe flick of her wrists
\nAs though her heart didn\u2019t trust that her words were enough to convey
\nWhat she had to say
\nWhich may be why I\u2019ve so often seen her lift them both in praise
\nOr clasp them together when she prays
\nHands whose veins I would trace in church, usually during the sermon, on Sundays
\nNot that the preacher didn\u2019t speak a good word, but those hands kept me entranced
\nI would scan the landscape of her rough hands
\nScour the cracks and crevices and creases
\nLike a gypsy seeking to unearth a future yet only finding memories
\nStories marked by famine, flood and fire, freckled with hope, joy and prosperity
\nKnuckled swollen from years of basketball that she gave up to start a family
\nEarly mornings and late nights with sick children and stubborn cattle
\nPalm to palm I\u2019d measure mine to hers
\nTrying to lie within the lines with which they were defined
\nAnd I knew that she loved me because of her hands
\nThat held, swaddled, cradled, cuddled five now adults that she still calls her babies
\nHands that joyfully accept my poor attempts at handmade mother\u2019s day gifts
\nHands that could mend the seams of ripped jeans and broken hearts
\nHands that crafted delicious meals some days only flavored with good intentions
\nHands that worked nine hours of hard labor of hospital laundry that came home
\nand still were willing to do a few more loads
\nIf ever I doubt, I just look at her hands to see what is written there marked with love
\nWithout speaking a word, that\u2019s what my mother\u2019s hands say
\nWhose hands I hope to have some day
\nBut one of these days those hands will decay, and all that was said will fade
\nSo how much more is spoken in the hands that won\u2019t fade
\nOn whose palms we find the inscription of our names
\nThere engraved on the very hands that gave form to the dust
\nKnit us in the womb and carries us into old age
\nBuilt our foundations
\nGod will not forget us, we know
\nBecause of God\u2019s hands
\nThey have claimed us, that is to whom we belong
\nSo we cannot forget, we each have hands
\nThat hold responsibility for what we sow
\nIf we don\u2019t, and walk around with fists clenched close, allowing only thorns to grow
\nWe must make sure to live with hands that unfold
\nSo the world God created can know they are remembered, and not forgotten
\nCherished, even if they are broken
\nLoved, and not forsaken
\nThat they belong
\nFor God so loved the world
\nGod so loved the world
\nThis we know
\nHow?
\nBecause of Jesus Christ \u2013 we can see it in his hands
\nWho calls us to be those hands and to be his feet
\nJust as I hope the same hands my mother inherited from her mother
\nwill be bequeathed unto me
\nFor to be the body of Christ, our bodies need to speak
\nSo they\u2019ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love, yes they\u2019ll know we are Christians by our love
\nThey then will see who has claim on us, and who we chose to claim as Lord
\nBecause they\u2019ll see it in our hands<\/p>\n
Written by Rebecca Dix, storyteller and M.Div student<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Sometimes my mom talks with her hands As if what is bundled inside Her feelings, thoughts, emotions, meanings, motives, intentions, passions All that constructs the fluid terrain of intangibles Within this elemental entanglement Were locked and needed escape And could only through painting a narration In the dance of her fingers The slide of…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1187,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"series":[],"class_list":["post-654","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ministry"],"yoast_head":"\r\n