The Hand Song

A few years ago I sang this song at my old church on Mother's Day.  I was thinking of posting a Nickel Creek song for a while but wasn't sure which one.  Then, Mother's Day.  This one seemed perfect.  Those of us blessed enough to have a close relationship with our moms can proably relate to the first part pretty strongly... The boy only wanting to give Mother something and all of her roses had bloomed...

 I remember not having any money for a gift on Mother's Day, which coincided with my Mom's birthday some years (May 9) and feeling an intense desire to do SOMETHING for her.  Maybe I was in 3rd or 4th grade.  So I made her a little beaded necklace.  It wasn't much.  I think it had a tiny piece of turquoise on the end, small glass beads on the rest in a simple pattern. It wasn't much.  I'm sure that my older sisters probably pulled something much nicer together.  My beads weren't much.  But they meant a lot to me.  And my mom recognized that when I gave them to her.  And she put it on right away.  And she said how pretty it was and how much she liked it and how much she loved me.  She acted as though I had given her a gold necklace, like it was one of the nicest presents she had ever received.

That was just one of the million or so powerful lessons she taught me about life, about giving and receiving, about something's relative worth.

Then, while we were sifting through her things when she was so very ill, when she was preparing to leave her home in the forest for the last time, I was helping her to go through her jewelry.  She had some big expensive pieces.  She had accumulated a lot over the years.  She had outlived 3 husbands, had 86 birthdays and Christmases, 64 or 65 Mother's Days. She had earrings, rings, bracelets, necklaces.  There among the extravagant pieces she had collected over the years was the tiny string of beads I had given her as a child.  She had kept it through all of her travels, homes, relationships.  She had kept it almost all of my life.

I remember playing this song for her at her home on the trees in Brevard, NC not long before she passed away.  She always listened when I played.  More than anyone.  God, I am missing her.

"The Hand Song"

The boy only wanting to give mother something,
And all of her roses had bloomed.

Looking at him as he came rushing in,
knowing her roses were doomed.

All she could see were some thorns buried deep,
And tears that he cried as she tended his wounds.

And she knew it was love, it was what she could understand.
He was showing his love and that's how he hurt his hands.

He still remembers that night as a child, on his mothers knee.
She held him close and she opened her Bible, and quietly started to read.

Then seeing a picture of Jesus, he cried out:
"Mama he's got some scars just like me!"

And he knew it was love, it was what he could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.

[instrumental break]

Now the boy is grown and moved out on his own.
When Uncle Sam comes along.
A foreign affair, but our young men are there.
And luck had his number drawn.

It wasn't that long till our hero was gone, he gave to a friend what he learned from the cross.

But they knew it was love, it one they could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.

It was one they could understand.

He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.