Mother's Hands | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Mother's Hands | Previous Challenge Entry
By Mariane Holbrook
10/12/21
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I watched with horror as my eight-year-old friend recoiled from the slap of her mother's hand across her tender cheek. I could not believe my eyes. I hurried to comfort her but her mother quickly stopped me with an outstretched arm. "You'd better leave now!" she said sternly.

I ran across the street to our house, with tears blinding my eyes, and called out to Mother. Finding her in the kitchen, I threw my arms around her and told her what I had just witnessed. She held me tightly and said we would pray for our friend and her mother but for now, to just keep loving my best friend who'd been so abused.

As I stood there beside Mother while she peeled the potatoes for dinner, I looked at her hands. Never would those hands have struck me like my friend's mother had done to her. I had received mild spankings as a child but Mother always ended up feeling worse than I did.

The day after I had witnessed that terrifying scene, I sat beside Mother on the bus. I had met her at the dress shop where she worked part-time and we rode home together. I looked at her hands again. They had taken on a new meaning to me.

Her hands were chapped and rough, red spots showed piercings from the needles she used to make alterations on dresses at the shop. Her nails were not manicured but they were clean and strong. I studied them while she rested beside me with her eyes closed.

Mother had given birth to seven children. Although sickly with pernicious anemia and suffering all her life from rheumatoid arthritis, she maintained a strong belief in Jesus as her Savior and taught her children how to trust Him as well. An avid storyteller, her Sunday School classes were always full, as she used felt-backed paper figures to tell the stories of Jesus.

Mother was faithful in her attendance at every church service. Her prayer life was legendary as young women sought her for counseling. She faithfully read her worn, dog-eared Bible to her children every day, taking turns with my Dad. She was a faithful friend to all those who had known and loved her for many years.

Through the years, I've thought of Mother's hands often. "If those hands could talk, what a story they would tell."

They were soft and tender when they wiped the beads from my fevered brow with a cool washcloth when I was thrashing around on my bed with measles.

Her hands were swift and firm when I received a well-earned spanking for mistreating my younger brother.

They were comforting and reassuring to a young neighbor giving birth at home, while Mother held her hand and encouraged her during delivery of her baby.

Her hands faithfully prepared meals for our family of nine during the Great Depression when food was scarce and money to purchase more was hard to come by. We never went hungry but I remember seeing much less on her dinner plate than on those of the rest of the family. Her family always came first.

Those hands lovingly kneaded the dough to make cinnamon buns for her family and the eager neighborhood children with whom we shared them.

Her hands faithfully prepared meals for visiting missionaries who spoke at our church. Her love for missions was well-known, resulting in two of her daughters becoming missionaries to the Philippines and West Africa.

Those hands worked tirelessly to make dresses for her five daughters that were the envy of our friends. She made wedding gowns for new brides as well as well-tailored suits for my father and my brothers.

Mother always folded her hands when praying. It was a gesture of worship before an almighty but loving God. During family prayers when we all knelt in the living room around the sofa and chairs, Mother's hands were always held tightly together.

When my father was dying of cancer, Mother sat by his bedside stroking his cheek with her soft hand, or brushing his hair. He never took his eyes from her, so deep was his love for his beloved wife.

One day, at the age of 96, Mother reached out her frail but faithful hands to her Lord Jesus who embraced her, saying "Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of thy Lord." (Matthew 25:21)

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Non-fiction

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