LITTLE HANDS!

Sunday night after church, we went to eat at IHOP. My children love breakfast food any time of the day. As I was sitting in a booth between the two of them, I began to get everything you could imagine dripped on me. First, Camon's chocolate milk. Then blueberry syrup, egg yolk (because they love RUNNY eggs - yuck!), a little syrup in my hair from Camon's fork, and then of course greasy fingers on my pants from Isabelle's bacon. I found myself thinking, "When will they be big enough to eat without all of this mess?" But then, I stopped and realized that I should cherish these times. Before long, they will not sit in a booth with me - I will be lucky if they will want to be seen in the same restraunt with me. And, so as I prayed that night, I thanked God for those dirty little hands that mean so much to me. Then, I wrote a little poem about their hands. I am no poet, but here goes:

Thank you Lord for dirty hands
That touch my clothes and hair
And leave fingerprints on windows
To prove that they were there

For Camon’s hands that squeeze and shake
As a superhero he becomes
And Isabelle’s hands that twist her hair
As she sucks her tiny left thumb

For needy hands that reach up high
To say “please pick me up”
For hands to hold in happy times
Or whenever things get tough

For loving hands that wrap you up
And squeeze you oh so tight
For frightened hands that grab on yours
And hold with all their might

For caring hands that stretch
From east to west apart
To say “I love you to the moon
And back to my heart”

For growing hands that learn to draw
And write those first little words
And hands that point to show you
All of the spiders, bunnies, and birds

For tiny hands that mysteriously draw
On the furniture and wall
And creative hands that paint or build
A creature oh so tall

For helping hands that pick up toys
And assist in folding clothes
For hands that do those tiny things
For which nobody knows

For careless hands that go astray
In search of something new
For hands to hold and show the way
As mothers often do

For hands that fold in humble prayer
Of thanks to You each day
And joyful hands that clap in glee
To give you all the praise

For precious little hands in which
Great faith so abounds
For silly little hands that reach
To touch a mother’s frown

And thank You for Your guiding hand
That leads me to the light
That lifts me when I stumble
And points me to do right

As their little hands reach out to me
To show them what to do,
I’m steadied, reassured, and loved
As I reach up to You