Hands

In honor of my beautiful mother, Sheila Davis King Brown 

 

The child eventually becomes the parent.  That's what we're told. That's what my sister and I experienced recently with both of our parents in the hospital within two months.  My mom, a breast cancer,  ovarian cancer, and stroke survivor,  was born with one kidney, and it's in stage 4 failure.  After developing sepsis from an infection, she spent one week in ICU.  We paced the floor, cried with my dad, prayed with family and friends, talked to nurses and doctors, and slept in the waiting room.  Actually, since the hospital leaves the lights on in the waiting room all night, I only slept there one night. My sister endured the lights- on-all-night for six nights. Our comfort during this time came by family, friends, and church members bringing snacks, offering words of encouragement and holding our hands. 

But what about my mother? She was critical, on a ventilator, and sedated for several days, so she couldn't experience the comfort and fellowship from friends and family.  She needed to be comforted, so while she was still sedated, I decided it was my duty to hold her hand and comfort her.  My mom has the softest hands of anyone I've known.  They're also covered in freckles, like mine.  While she was sedated,  I picked up her hand and held it, but holding her hand didn't work as I planned; instead,  something strange happened.  Her hand held mine. She comforted me.  I felt this peace I hadn't felt since she was admitted. I'm many decades past childhood, but she's still my mother, and I'm her little girl forever.  The same soft, warm hand that held me as a baby,  felt my forehead for fever, brushed my hair, and dried my tears brought comfort to me from an ICU bed.

She spent another week in a regular hospital room where there was only one chair, occupied by dad most of the time.   Mothers know their children, and she knew I was tired from working, so when I visited her, she asked me to crawl in bed with her.  I didn't dare say NO. To the surprise of the night nurse, we watched a football game curled up in her hospital bed.  Susi did the same at the rehabilitation hospital.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing. Toni Morrison - "Beloved" 1987

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; Your walls are continually before Me.  Isaiah 49:16 NKJV

My sister cooks and cleans for my parents and makes sure they take their medicine and remember their doctor appointments.  I'm their once a week yard man.  But, as much as I like to think otherwise, my mom does more for me than I do for her.  I will never out love her.  Mothers never give up on their children. We're inscribed on their hands. They're always holding our hands.  Even as adults, we're always on their minds.  

I am inscribed in the palm of God's hands and continually on His mind. This brings me great comfort.  I may serve at church, attend bible study and talk about God's love and compassion, but no matter how much I think I know or how closely I walk with Him, He does more for me than I do for Him.  I am His child forever, always on His mind. His protection is forever around me.  I will never out love God.

While walking around busily working for God, deciding what you can do for Him, reach for His hand that is always there, and let Him comfort you. 

"I will comfort you there in Jerusalem, as a mother comforts her child." Isaiah 66:13 NLT

Happy Mother's Day,

Katy

Mom looking very healthy