Her Hands

I believe that when the world was created that our loving Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ spent countless hours on designing a Mother’s hands.

When I was born and took my first breath, I’m pretty sure Dr Davies was the first person to hold me. To this day I have always had this incredible respect for Dr’s especially for the one who delivered me.

In my Cinderella world which is sometimes correct, my soul believes that my beautiful 30 year old mom was the next person to hold me.

This was the beginning of our journey together and how I learned to treasure her incredible hands that held me for the very first time on December 15th 1961.

I was born in Milford Utah, a very small railroad town with only one store, one post office and the most incredible railroad station where my dad worked as a break man to make sure that I was well taken care of.

I often wonder what was going through Marion Turner’s head when she looked into my eyes for the very first time?

I believe that maybe she thought to herself, this is my daughter, my very first born daughter and she will be called “Lisa” because it means “God Is My oath” and little did my mom know how devoted I would be to God from that day forward.

My memories of my mom’s hands started when she would give me a bubble bath. Bath time for a mom and child is a time of bonding. A time to learn that water is a really beautiful substance and to this day whenever I hear the sound of water, I think of her.

My mom taught me to love the water. When she bathed me she taught me that cleanliness is next to Godliness and I think I believe the lotion that she used on me smelled like the lilac bush outside of my bedroom window when I was a little girl.

One of my fondest memories of my moms hands were her holding my hand when I was only three years old.

She took me with her everyday to water the seeds that her and my dad had planted together that became the grass for our beautiful yard in our first home in Las Vegas Nevada.

This was the beginning of my moms love for gardening and for flowers that were planted in tire pots that my dad would bring home from his work,

He would carve a flower pot for her out of the rubber tire and then she would put soil in the pot and plant flowers in them every Spring and the flowers would be the first thing the neighbors would see when they came to the door.

My mom was always there in the morning when I would get up for school. She was usually doing laundry and scrubbing the kitchen floor. She made sure that our home was clean. This was extremely important to my mom and even more important to my dad.

My mom loved my dad like peanut butter loves jelly. She was devoted to him, she respected him and she was always trying to make him happy.

When I look back on my early childhood years they were close to perfect.

However, as I grew and my siblings grew, things eventually became more difficult.

I’m not sure how old I was when I knew that things were not perfect anymore but I know that when I was in the fifth grade I learned that God truly knew who I was & he answered my prayers, especially the one about getting a baby sister.

I had a sixteen year old brother, a 14 year old brother & I was 11.

There was a ten year gap between me and my baby sister. I was not going to be the baby anymore.

My friends were praying for swimming pools in there backyard & I was praying for a baby sister.

Stephen was 16 when Aimee was born and things were tough for him. He struggled with ditching school, drinking & smoking mamajuana and he was always getting into trouble.

There was tension in our home and my peaceful little world got rocked and completely shattered when Stephan took his own life at the tender age of 21. I was 17 at the time and there is not a day that goes by that I have not stopped loving Him, missing Him and somehow trying to fill the hold that was placed in my heart the day I found out he had passed away.

I found myself playing with friends a lot more, not wanting to be home as much and trying to be a pleaser especially when it came to helping take care of my baby sister.

I loved her, spent time with her and being with her made me very happy.

I know that having a baby sister has taught me to be kinder, to be more unselfish & I loved making sure that her hair was curled and her dresses were ironed so that she would look beautiful when we went to church together on Sunday mornings.

I also know that God sent Aimee to our family for the sole purpose of giving my parents a daughter to love and care for after the loss of their oldest son. She was the balm that kept them going and the glue that kept them fighting for their marriage and most importantly strengthening the love that they always had for each other,

I was submerged in babysitting responsibilities after my sister was born,

I babysat for all of the neighbors and felt this incredible sense of accomplishment when I actually was able to put our neighbors children to sleep and they would be asleep when their parents came home.

I learned so much of who I am today by watching all the women in my life use their hands.

But my mom’s hands were the hands that had the most influence on molding me into the women I am today.

She held my hand on my first day of kindergarten. She put her hands on my head when she washed my hair, she used her hands when she taught me to tie my shoes, make my bed and brush my teeth.

My mom’s hands were always in the kitchen making homemade bread, cinnamon rolls and apple pie.

My mom made her own baby food for my sister Aimee, sold Avon to all of our neighbors and went bowling with her friends once a week.

My mom was always serving the neighbors, cooking delicious meals planning Thanksgiving dinner months in advance and always making homemade candy at Christmas time.

My mom used her hands constantly. Her hands were the most incredible hands I have ever seen and I miss everything that her hands represented.

As I have come reflect on the significant purpose of our hands many thoughts come to my mind.

The simple act of holding hands in relationships can serve as a powerful unspoken form of communication.

In the Bible, holding hands symbolizes unity, love, and support among individuals, reflecting the bonds of friendship and partnership in faith.

My entire childhood was built around holding hands. Ring around the Rosie, Say, Say O Playmate, playing “Twister” and holding hands at recess with your very best friend created a sense of peace, love & the reassurance that childhood friends create spiritual bonds of human connection.

I have often wondered who I would be today without my morher’s hands?

The first time I held my husband’s hand was in a movie theater. To this day I am usually the one who holds his hand first. When Daren holds my hand, I feel this deep connection, not only to Him but most importantly to God.

It was that first touch that created a bond between us that has never gone away.

I love to study the incredible acts of service that Christ gave to his disciples using his hands. At “The Last Supper” Christ washed His disciples feet. It was an act of unconditional love, service and complete humility.

His hands were the symbol of His love for all of us.

When He was placed on the cross the Roman soldiers pierced his hands with nails.

Some scholars believe that when we die we will recognize Christ because of the nail prints in His hands.

I also know that Christ loved His Mother “Mary” & there is no bond greater between two human beings than the love between a Mother & A Child.

When my Mother took her last breath, I was holding her hand.

Someday, when I cross the veil, my prayer is that her hand will be one of the first ones reaching out for me and when I see her hands again I will know that all of the pain, anguish, frustrations and uncertainty will be washed away because I was able to touch the hands that first touched me at birth and lovingly touched mine at death.