These Hands

I look at these hands, wide and plain, just one ring
At these hands that have done a thousand hand-things;
They've calmed and they've comforted, clapped and cajoled,
They've done things I know I'll regret when I'm old.
They've done things they shouldn't but some that they should;
They done things for bad and they've done much for good.
They built forts and ice castles and thrones fit for kings,
They've soothed and band-aided a hundred knee stings.
They're scarred from being "mom" and they're no longer new,
But how they caressed the belly that carried you!
These hands clasped in prayer for your unfinished form,
Through the dark, desperate days of my teenaged storm.
They cupped little feet through taut flesh and skin
To protect the water-world that I carried you in.
On the day of your birth, my hands reached for you
And touched every inch...so soft! Oh, so new!
You looked up at me, eyes wide with no tears
And I held you beside me for 23 years
These hands, they have loved you, they've soothed and caressed
They've bathed and they've scolded and helped you to dress
They've rocked and they've cuddled; changed a diaper or two,
And stroked silken curls damp with baby shampoo,
But of all of the things that these hands have done best,
The hardest by far was to lay you to rest.
They stroked your head softly and touched you goodbye,
And sent you with love to your place in the sky.
They closed a lid over your beautiful face,
Then raised skyward to beg God to show you your place -
The place in a mansion that He promised to you,
Way back when these hands were still young and still new.