The Gentle Hands Of Mom

The Gentle Hands of Mom

A gentle hand reaches out; arms cradle a new entry in this complex world. A simple gesture, yet one that will come to signify an infallible bond between a mother and her children, the bond of a mother’s love. As a child I yearned, as all children do, to stray, to venture and explore away from the nest. Why did I have to come in, take that bath, and not forget to brush those teeth, what seemed to be every two minutes? Why me? I was ready to take on the world. I could achieve, explore, and conquer. After all I was already at the well experienced age of at least well… eight. What could there possibly be that I could not do? Nothing, I thought. Once again I was to prove myself wrong, a trend I now see all too familiar as I look back on life.
Yet I was not ready to conquer that world, I was ready to stumble, not able to climb to the top and very capable of the fall. Yet there she was, that gentle hand, the soft touch, ready to scoop me up and place me right back on my feet for another attempt. Somehow never doing, just leading me in the right direction. But in one way or another I would see that direction and choose to ignore it, I knew what she was doing but wasn’t going for it.
Those younger years inched along, lessons taught being filed away, stored to be used for future reference. Places and faces were ever changing like the leaves of a tree. Yet that gentle touch remained. Guiding, caring, and showing the whole way through, for she new that the time was coming. Time for me to stretch those legs; take some of that freedom and responsibility I had so desperately wanted.

It was the same gentle hand that gave me those all important talks about school, work, and most importantly, life. A gentle hand that was never late to reach out when I had fallen, to gently stroke when I was tired, and to hold me when I was sad.
A mother’s true love cannot be measured with a device, expressed in an essay, or metered in any way. The love is to be felt, heard, and appreciated. It is to be honored for how effective it is. To be respected for its undeniable power.
I Corinthians states that “love is patient, love is kind, it is not self doing, it does not boast. If I speak in the tongues of men but have not love I am nothing” A mothers’ love is all this and more, always patient, always kind.

Oliver Wendell Holmes once wrote; Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall; A mother’s secret hope outlives them all.

A tribute to moms everywhere sung by the famed Alex Sharpe (former Celtic Woman): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Bl2QMhl1cg&index=99&list=FLk93N3GumLCcUC4VH8KW2sw