A few years ago, when my mother was visiting, she asked me to go
shopping with her because she needed a new dress. I don't normally like
to go shopping with other people, and I'm not a patient person, but we
set off for the mall together nonetheless. We visited nearly every store
that carried ladies' dresses, and my mother tried on dress after dress,
rejecting them all. As the day wore on, I grew weary and my mother grew
frustrated. Finally, at our last stop, my mother tried on a lovely blue
three-piece dress. The blouse had a bow at the neckline, and as I stood
in the dressing room with her, I watched as she tried, with much
difficulty, to tie the bow. Her hands were so badly crippled from
arthritis that she couldn't do it.
Immediately, my impatience gave way to an overwhelming wave of
compassion for her. I turned away to try and hide the tears that welled
up involuntarily. Regaining my composure, I turned back to tie the bow
for her. The dress was beautiful, and she bought it. Our shopping trip
was over, but the event was etched indelibly in my memory. For the rest
of the day, my mind kept returning to that moment in the dressing room
and to the vision of my mother's hands trying to tie that bow.
Those loving hands that had fed me, bathed me, dressed me, caressed and
comforted me, and, most of all, prayed for me, were now touching me in
the most remarkable manner.
Later in the evening, I went to my mother's room, took her hands in
mine, kissed them and, much to her surprise, told her that to me they
were the most beautiful hands in the world. I'm so grateful that God let
me see with new eyes what a precious, priceless gift a loving,
self-sacrificing mother is. I can only pray that some day my hands, and
my heart, will have earned such a beauty of their own.
