Years ago I read a poem about the description of a mother’s hand.
How every line and detail of her hands describes the work she had produced over the years raising children. How her labor would flourish from generation to generation.
The poem gives a vision of how a mother’s hand could show you her sensitivity. The imprints on her hands shows how many times her fingers had touched her children with grace.
It was a beautiful poem about the fruits of a mother’s hands.
I was about 14 years old when I read the poem. Ever since then I have looked at my mothers and fathers hands with appreciation as I saw every line and crease detail.
Just the other day I went into deep thought about this poem that I read many years ago.
All within one afternoon I had seen my mother gently give my daughter affection. As she brushed her hair to one side, she looked at her granddaughter with great admiration.
Then I saw my father pick up his grandson in his arms and began clapping their hands together to a praise and worship song. His hands delicately grasping his grandsons hands as they praised the Lord together.
My thoughts took me back in time as I thought of my mother giving the same affection to us children as she was just doing to her granddaughter.
As young children we loved her soft touch so much that all three of us kids would have our heads crowded around her as she would alternate turns to soothes us.
We all had mental timers going off in our heads. We would have outburst of shouting “switch” when we wanted our mother’s touch next.
Then a few moments later I began to remember the days of kneeling down with our father to pull weeds out the our yard’s gardening area. He would strategically tell us where and how to pull the weeds as we kneeled side by side to him.
My vivid remembrance of this would see every vein, wrinkle, and scar of my father’s hands as he taught us how to maintain our land.
Each of these moments are moments of where God was using them as a time to love and a time to learn. The functions of their hands was part of training their children. To teach us to rise up to as a mother of grace or as a father of leadership.
You see; by being a parent that is teaching your children how to be graceful and diligent as a Christian valued woman or man, we are winning the battle of a war.
With every touch and grasps we make to the plow of raising children through godly mentorship we are overcoming our self to teach our children.
The enemy does not want us to be rising up children to know what love is or what grace is, or how to strategically care for a home. The enemy wants us to rise up selfishly so our next generation will be raised up selfishly.
Giving our children memories of using strength, how to be passionate, how to chase after God and pray, or when to seek for forgiveness and healing is a war cry. It is accomplishing prayers from the righteous that has prayed before us to produce in the land of righteousness.
Memories of righteousness will continue to produce fruits from generation to generation.
Our hands, actions, use of spiritual gifts, are all representation of our war cry. As we defeat ourselves in the flesh and allow God to use us as parents and examples of Christ to others, we are winning a war.
We are winning because we are preparing them for the future to love as Christ loved the church.
Just as my father’s hand would hold my mother’s hand, I was taught there was no shame in a wife and husband creating a image of being one.
As I think about the hands of my parents, I wonder about how my children see the war cry I have for them. In what areas will they see I went to battle in the spiritual war?
Was it in my hands, my feet, my knees?
Do they see how often I walk up to people to greet them and to love on them? Do they see how my tongue does its best to steer away from negative words? When they see my knees, do they know their mother is a prayer warrior?
Recently we have been learning out of the Book of James in the New Testament. The other day my husband told me James was known to have camel knees. “Camel knees? What are camel knees?”. He replied, “James prayed so much that his knees became burdened and scarred. They were indented because of how much he was kneeling before God on the ground”.
What do my imprints represent, what lines am I carrying down to the next generation through my children?
What will my daughter see me doing with her children that she will stand still with a peaceful memory of me doing the same to her?
Will the hands of my husband show labor upon them through the eyes of children? Will his tongue that speaks the word of God to them became a memory to our children that leaves them grateful for the early teachings?
Most importantly; the question I need to be asking myself and find assurance in is: What am I striving to teach my children? Am I doing things that will leave impressions in their hearts and memories?
Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
The fruit of the womb is a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one’s youth.
Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them;
They shall not be ashamed,
But shall speak with their enemies in the gate.
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