What strength lies in the hands of my mother. Having given birth to three daughters, holding each with the delicacy of a flower. Raising them to be responsible adults while never raising her hand in anger.
Over the years those hands have held me, nursed me back to health, pointed the way I should follow. They were held out to me as a safety line in which to return to the comfort of her arms.
Those hands may have aged and wrinkled, much the same way my own hands have done, but I will forever see the strength they hold.