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When I was in my teens, I’d often sit next to Mum in church and look down at her hands, clasped in prayer. She didn’t go in for manicures or nail varnish – her hands were wrinkled, working hands – their only adornments a simple wedding band, and the engagement ring with the tiny diamond, which Dad bought her when they were in their teens.
I’d compare her wrinkled skin with my own smooth pink hands, and wonder if I’d ever have a husband one day - plus the accompanying engagement and wedding rings. Since our burglary, I have been wearing her engagement ring, as my own was stolen.
Mum was an amazing lady, and even when her health problems made her less mobile, she still had a very active prayer life. I was thinking about her this week as I prepared my sermon on Exodus 20; 12 [Honour your mother and father]
May God give me the grace to honour her memory always – and to love, serve and pray as she did.
Beautiful post
ReplyDeleteGood, honest, strong, hard-working hands. Nothing wrong with that, Angela. Now mine are adorned with patches of psoarisis which has decided to attach itself to me. My fingers are swollen too much to wear any rings anymore.
ReplyDeleteA lovely post and a beautiful tribute to your mother.
ReplyDeleteOh this is lovely. The first assembly I ever took was about these hands. X
ReplyDeleteHands can tell a lot of stories
ReplyDeleteTouched my heart .
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