Skip to main content

His Hands

The birds were up in Alvechurch and singing lustily at 4.30 a.m., I can attest to it! Perhaps they started even earlier, but that, at least, was when their songs first penetrated my sleepy brain.

I lay in the dark for a while. My alarm was set for 5.00 a.m. and I decided that I could afford a few more minutes to think and to listen. The birds deserved an appreciative audience.

I sent scattered thanksgivings to God, wondering how I could possibly cover everything. There was so much to be grateful for.

So began my day of leaving England on Tuesday.

A short time later, I was dressed and my suitcase closed. I had 30 precious minutes to spend with Mum before Robert took me to Birmingham Airport.

Her room was still in darkness, with the curtains closed, when I gently entered. She was lying there awake already though.

“Oh,” she said, in apparent amazement, “How did you get here?”

We soon sorted out the source of the temporary confusion. Mum thought that I’d left the night before and that our kiss goodnight was my goodbye.

“Oh, dear, isn’t it terrible?” she said, at the thought of her mix up, “All night long I was thinking of you on your journey. I thought that you must be almost home now.”

I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that she had another goodbye to say. We are both experts in saying goodbye bravely, but in spite of that it is never easy.

The time came at last. “Mum,” I said, “I am putting you in God’s hands now.” Mum nodded, comforted.

“And you can put me in God’s hands too,” I said, to another nod from Mum.

Then a wonderful thought occurred to me. “Hey Mum! We are both in the same pair of hands.”

There was something infinitely, wonderfully comforting and reassuring in that thought.

I have a plaque with a pair of nail pierced hands, outstretched in invitation. I bought it thirty years ago for Tante Corrie, Mum’s eldest sister.

And as she suffered courageously, through a long battle with breast cancer, she said to me often, “I know in whose hands I am.”

I feel that maybe she was close to me this morning, my dear aunt; giving me a special hug from heaven just when I needed it most.

It is the price of being loved, and loving much, this pain in the heart, at parting..


Joyful Fox said…
Oh Belinda,

The relationship you have with your Mum is beautiful, one you have both cultivated. I guess to love much, in some ways, is also to hurt much too.

I think of how much Christ loved us, each one, and how He must hurt at so many different times.

Glad you're home and I know the being here is bittersweet.
He's got the whole world in his hands, he's got the whole wide world ... I guess that means the itty bitty baby, the blog princess and her mama too ....
Belinda said…
Yes, He's got the WHOLE world in His hands! Yeay!

Popular posts from this blog

Just Joy!

Our family has a standing date for Sunday dinner on the first Sunday of every month. Not that we don't see each other at any other time, but we all know that particular Sunday is pretty much for sure--and I look forward to it so much--the front door bursting open and our house being filled once more with the voices and vibrancy of six grandchildren and their parents. 

This week Spero, Brenda's new Australian Shepherd puppy came too, and met his extended family, leaving Molson at home to have a rest! He was duly adored by all of us.

He came with a dazzling array of toys and is proving a fast learner, already sitting on command and responding to Tori's training. I was so impressed at her technique of quickly rewarding a turnaround from any slight naughtiness with praise for "good sitting," or "good" any other desirable behaviour! 

Tippy had her hair cut stunningly and bravely short the day before; making a statement about who she is as a unique individual, o…

The Secret Adventures of Susan's Scottish Scarf

By Belinda (with a lot of help from Susan :))
I was saying goodnight to her at the front door this week when she told me. There was apparently more to the scarf around her neck than I knew. 
The scarf had been a gift from me for Susan's birthday on Tuesday December 18th. It had been her 60th; and that day I had treated her to lunch to celebrate. 
We met at a tiny restaurant, Port Soiree, in Schomberg,near her office. It was a restaurant neither of us had been to before and it turned out to be a gem, with artsy ambiance, amazing food, wonderful service and modest pricing. In other words, it was perfect!