Rebecca Burtram
PARENTING

MY MOM’S HAND

MY MOM’S HAND

MY MOM'S HAND

I thought a student said, “My Mom’s Hand” as a title. He actually said, “My Mom’s Ham,” but if I’d heard him right, this post wouldn’t exist.

When I was erasing the board after class, the title caught my attention.

My mom’s hand…

Over the years her hands have washed me, been run through my hair, wrote notes and cards, folded laundry, rubbed my back, signed papers, filled out checks, cleaned floors and walls, peeled potatoes, transcribed recipes, held me…..

My mother’s hands have, in a million ways, said, “I love you.”

Who knew a silly title randomly thrown out by a student could mean so much?

I can think of few things that represent a mother’s love more than her hands.

By Rebecca Burtram

I am a woman in my mid thirties figuring out how to balance an intense need for perfection with the reality of my own imperfections. The answer I am finding is grace.....and plenty of it.
As a mother of three, a teacher, a church planter, and a runner, I have many opportunities to practice giving myself and others the grace I need to survive.

Grace and Imperfection:
rebeccaburtram.com

The River Walk (Guest Author on Fridays):
tworiversblog.com

3 comments

  1. Oh now you have me thinking! Then I remembered my mom’s feet that led me to the museum, the concert, and the library. Her long brown hair that she sold when we were short on money. Her voice that sang to me all the Christmas carols. Thanks for helping me to remember. Have a blessed day!

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