My Hands Were Busy

I vividly remember the day I was handed the below poem “My Hands Were Busy,” at a MOPS (moms of preschoolers) gathering I attended almost twenty years ago.  My eyes welled up and I felt so guilty as I was the mom who wasn’t taking time to get on the floor and play. I found it hard to enjoy my little ones.  I reasoned there were meals to be cooked, clothes to wash, and a house to clean.   However what my daughters desired more than anything was ‘ME’ entering their world  consistently and often.  I am so thankful for the encouragement I received so often from others to savor the moments and enjoy my children.

Life is like pictures.  You can look back on moments, but you can never recapture them.


My Hands Were Busy

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to,
I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say, “A little later, hon.”

I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,
A little child grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no children’s games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I might go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.

Author Unknown

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