These Are the Hands

Of the women that molded me, shaped me, grounded me, taught me, teach me, and love me

These are the hands
That twirled my braid ends around my ears during church
Or turned hankies into babies in a cradle
Hands that gave me candy every time I ran down the path through the pasture to visit
Hands that taught me how to roll out cinnamon rolls and pie dough
These were the hands of my grandmothers

These are the hands
That held me first of all in the whole world
And cradled me closely giving me sustenance
Hands that labored sewing miniature Mennonite dresses for my Barbie dolls
Hands that pull me still into a comforting embrace because a girl never stops needing her mom
These are the hands of my mother

These are the hands
That formed squishy mud into cookies decorated with crepe myrtle blossoms And started penning “Dear Diaries” at a tender age, always aching to create
The hands that felt safe clasped by a stronger manly hand walking down the aisle To the music of “God, and You, and I”
The hands that soothed or used the wooden spoon on my darling mini me
These are the hands that belong to me

These are the hands
That wrapped me around her little finger
And clutched every heartstring; pulling it tight
Hands that hug chickens while she swings in the backyard
Hands that stir batch after batch of slime, crafting and creating it just to her liking Making glorious messes just like her mother
These are the hands of my daughter

These are the hands
Of the women that molded me, shaped me, grounded me, taught me, teach me, and love me
Generations of hands forming strong bands
Of life and love and stories
I’m holding long, I’m holding strong
Because these are the hands that form the circle of life