Little boost of morale can go a long way

                                                     

Someday I will look down and not recognise my hands. They will be tan and wrinkled, and my rings may not fit — or ever come off — and in those creases and imperfections will exist along with a glorious history of love that only a mother knows…

Mother’s Hands…
Hands that hold the family together
Hands that express love and beauty
Hands that make one feel safe
Hands that stroke brows to ease worry & pain
Hands that sew, mend and iron clothes
Hands that knead dough and bake cookies
Hands that prune roses and plant flowers
Hands that write words of encouragement and belief
Hands that gather wood and build fires.
Hands that rub sore muscles and heal.
Hands that create and wrap gifts.
Hands that wipe our tears and heal…

Honest hands, giving hands
Scarred hands, working hands
Praying hands

Hands that have held hope in despair
Hands that have nestled soft babies and grandkids…
Hands that have wiped tears and caressed cheeks
Hands that have clutched heartache and loss
Hands that have flipped pancakes, canned and cooked many meals
Hands that have worked the soil, fed animals and seeded fields
Hands that have hung school bags and passed instruments
Hands that have reprimanded but then wept…
Hands that have made beds and pulled up our covers
Hands that have cooked our favourite dishes and decorated trees.
Hands that have washed, brushed and curled hair
Hands that have soothed many souls

Strong hands Loving hands
Holding unto dreams and faith

A blessing to behold 

The gift of my mother’s hands

Happy birthday Mom,
Philomena Felcy Fernandes

                   Russell Fernandes