Soft Hands

Soft hands hold me for the very first time. A loving smile, a loving voice, they welcome me to the world.

Desperate hands wash me, frantically trying to cool the fever. The invading virus has assaulted my body but those desperate hands have come to do battle. No, sickness! Not this day, not this child!

Strong hands gripping mine lovingly prevent my escape. Large feet dash, dart and stomp around me but those strong hands… They keep me safe from harm.

Firm hands show me the way. The path may seem like a wide and winding road, but those firm hands teach me how straight and narrow it really is.

Joyous hands give praise and thanks. They show me that IF there is nothing Earthly for you to hold on to, you need NOT be empty handed. Lifting your hands in joyous praise brings rewards of its own.

Forgiving hands embrace me. Failure need not become an impenetrable fortress. There is no castle or keep that my mind creates, that cannot be breeched by those forgiving hands.

Proud hands clap and cheer for me. The road to this day was long and toilsome, but today those hands ring out with a joyful noise. Accomplishments may seem rare, but such rarity is even more reason to wear proud hands.

Soft hands, aged hands, weathered and freckled hands… so frail they became. Those soft warm hands have now grown cold. If I could have but just one wish, if I could have but just one prayer, it would be to one day feel the touch of those soft hands again.