My Mother's hands

When I was a little girl, I liked to trace the veins and bumps on my Mother's hands. Even as a young woman, her hands looked old. As a teenager, I thought her hands were ugly. Now I look at them and think of all the tasks these hands accomplished. She held me as a baby, rubbed my legs as a preteen, when they hurt from arthritis. She baked and cooked wonderful food, hung the clothes on the clothesline, even in the bitter North Dakota winters, Sewed me beautiful clothes, helped healed God's creatures, built a huge tree house, took care of the farm that she loved so much, planted hundreds of trees and flowers. I remember these hands folded in prayer as she prayed for others and herself. When I asked her if I could take a picture of her hands, she asked why and said they were ugly. I told her they are beautiful. I hope my hands look like hers someday.