Those hands blessed so many people. The family she loved. The friends she loved. The people she knew. And yet, there are people she didn’t even know.
However, before my mom blessed so many others with her gift, her hands molded me.
My mom’s hands hands carried me home from the hospital. My mom’s hands held my hand crossing the street. They held my hand at so many softball games. They held my hand walking into my dorm room. They held my hand the day I changed my name. My mom’s hands clapped when needed. Yet, they were firm when need be. My mom’s hands protected. My mom’s hands always knew when a hug was needed. My mom’s hands always made the best mashed potatoes and corn. My mom’s hands valued hard work. My mom’s hands always put other hands in front of her own. However, one of the best things about my mom’s hands, they were always “blowing kisses” to her grandchildren.
My mom’s hands would take any “hot mess of colors” and see past those colors. Her hands would cut, they would iron, they would sew corners, triangles, lines, rectangles, and even circles. Her hands sometimes would sew with gold thread, but in all reality she always sewed with a heart and hands of gold. Little did I know, with her quilting hands, she was teaching me, “some days you will be a “hot mess” but your heart always needs to be a heart of gold.”
And now when I look at mom’s quilts, I see love. I see her strong nimble fingers pressing, sewing, seam ripping, and turning the “hot mess of material” into a beautiful quilt bound with so much love. I see her moving squares around to find the most perfect pattern, for each square was uniquely made and each square had its perfect spot.
Most importantly, though, with each quilt, I feel my mom’s love. Yes, even today, I feel her love. For a long time, I wouldn’t let my mom’s quilts be touched, I wanted to look at them, I wanted to preserve them. Then one day, my mom told me, “My quilts are not meant to lay around or hang up, they are meant to be used.” My mom’s gift, is a gift that will never leave us. Even in the most difficult of circumstances, I am so incredibly blessed by my hands.
My mom’s quilting hands grew weary. My mom’s quilting hands became worn. Her quilting hands were done cutting, pressing, and sewing. Yet, her quilting hands will live on. My mom will always be wrapped around us, as she shared God’s gift with all of us...her quilting hands.