A Love Poem from My Daughter

I had always been very self-conscious about my knobby-knuckled, hard-working hands. Then I was given this poem. It was written by my then twelve-year-old daughter, Piper.

Though this poem was written to me, it is really a love letter to everyone who lifts children up, supports them in fully becoming their truest selves, and creates a soft spot for them to land in troubling times. We may not always hear it expressed in this beautiful way, but it is how our love is received more often than we know.  There is truly so much divinity in the everyday.

My Mother’s Hands
by Piper (at age 12)

Soft and wrinkled.
Callused and strong.
These are my mom’s hands.

Sturdy, like an old oak, they will not back down.
Gentle and quick, after years of spills, falls, and diapers.

Her hands are loving.
Holding me firmly in her cushioned lap as they
absent-mindedly twirl my hair.

Elegantly swishing, swooshing like a soaring bird.
They become delicate and free as they dance across the canvas, making lines and curves into a beautiful scene.

Her hands have always been a comfort to me.
They wiped away my salty tears,
picked me up when I was down,
and led me in the right direction.
Beautiful and giving.  Firm and capable.
These are my mother’s hands. ~

Mammaste.
There is so much divinity in the everyday.

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