I heard of a story of a mother who saved her child from their house when it burned.
She sacrificed herself and cared not for her safety to save him.
The end result was the child saved but at a price.
The mother's beautiful hands were horribly scarred.
For years afterward she tried to hide her hands.
She wore gloves whereever she went.
As her baby became a little boy, he saw her glowing, light colored flowing hair, her deep blue calming eyes, and her warm bright smile.
But he never noticed her hands.
Each night she went through the same routine of singing a song, bedtime story, and prayers. One night when he was four, the mother kissed her child good night and brushed his cheek.
He grabbed her hands and looked up at her.
"Mommy, why are your hands different?' he questioned with a curious look,
Sitting on the edge of his bed she began to tear up, looking at her hands she began to cry uncontrollably.
"My hands haven't always been this ugly. At one time, I had the most lovely of hands.But years ago our house burned when you were a baby, I rushed past the firemen to save you from your burning crib, Making my way through the fire I protected you from the flames with my hands. The end result is what you see." she sobbed.
The small boy took his mothers scarred hands in his and gently rubbed them.
"Momma, these are the most beautiful hands I have ever seen," he said while caressing them against his cheek.
Our Savior's hands are the same way. Do we realize when we take His hands how much love went into them for us, or do we just take them for granite?
I never took time to look at my earthly father's hands growing up. I always thought that they would be there. The time came, when he grew older, to tell him good bye. In the night while he rested, I took his hands in mine. After carefully examining them, I noticed the scars and callouses from hardwork, the age spots and wrinkles time had put there, and the roughness of the skin that a lifetime of the elements had toughened. A true realization sit in at that quiet late night hour, it was all because of me. Every scar, callous, age spot, wrinkle, and the toughness of the skin. I put there. He sacrificed his youth, health, and physical well being for me. Only now toward the end did I truly understand that.
As he awakened briefly, I leaned across to tell him my heart. Whispering in his ear
I told him,"Thank you for the sacrifice of going to work everyday, thank you for providing for me, and thank you for all that you did without me ever asking."
He just smiled and laid my head on his chest. As he gently stroked my head like I was a little boy, he spoke with a labored breath.
"Thank you for being my son."
How wonderful that feeling was to hear him say that before his passing, as he laid in that hospital bed.
Those words I'll always carry in my heart. But I anxiously await for the day when I stand beside him in front of our Heavenly Father.
On that day I long to hear these words from Him, "Thank you for being my sons and daughters."