My Little Dragon Slayers,
There are times that we are sitting down, cuddled up on the couch, and I just stare. I stare at your hands. I remember how small they were when you were born. Soft wrinkled skin stretching along slender fingers curled into a fist. Fingernails thin and delicate and long from nine months of growing. Soon those fingers opened and found me, wrapping around my pinkie, holding tightly, keeping us connected. You would grab on while you nursed and waves of emotion would watch over me as the enormity of being your mother hit with each squeeze of your hand.
Today your hands are bigger. Your nails are sometimes short, sometimes much longer than they should be for now you are far too busy to sit and let me clip them in any dignified manner. They have hints of pink and red and purple and gold nail polish because now you have opinions and feelings about how your hands should look. And underneath those fingernails I can still find, no matter how hard you try to wash, bits of yesterday’s painting or sandbox digging or coloring.
You place your palm squarely on mine, and so much of my hand is covered by yours that I can hardly believe it. When did you grow up so much? As much as I want to stop this, even one frozen day where you can stay this way without growing, I bless those hands.
|Photo Credit: Ms. Phoenix Flikr Creative Commons http://bit.ly/1l0Knoc|
I bless your hands, my daughter. I bless the art they create. The pictures you draw, the landscapes you paint, the portraits you fashion. I bless the play dough masterpieces. I bless the way they spread glue and marker and chalk. I bless the vision you bring to life, the visual representation of an active imagination. I bless it all.
I bless your hands, my daughter. I bless the towers they build. The Lego skyscrapers that you painstakingly replicate – a Chicago girl should be able to build the Sears Tower. The skyline of the city built in blocks. The houses and castles that house your dolls so you can put on shows. I bless the way your hands engineer worlds both real and imaginary.
I bless your hands, my daughter. I bless the other hands they hold. When you link your palms when crossing streets. When you use them to reach for your sister when she trips. When you gently rub the back of the one who falls down. When full of strength they lift her up. I bless the way your hands show love to others.
I bless your hands, my daughter. I bless the way they hold pencils and scribble down words. The way you place letters together to make words and use them to show us new worlds that only you know. I bless the way they show how much you are learning.
I bless your hands, my daughter. I bless the way they grip when you climb the rock wall, each time higher and stronger. I bless the way your hands hold firmly on the mat when you practice that cartwheel over and over and over. I bless the way you grip the monkey bars, each time getting just a little bit farther. I bless the way your hands show your strength.
I bless your hands, my daughter. The hands that are strong and gentle. The hands that are made to hold swords. The hands that will go into battle to fight for others. To fight for you. Don’t let others tell you what your hands can and cannot do. You know, even now, whispers of what you were created to do. You know your value. You know your worth. And I will be beside you always, whispering to remind you.
I bless your hands.