The First Time I Feared Heavy Hands
I don’t have many memories of my grandmother, but one stands out vividly. During an overnight stay, she ran bath water for my sister and me. After we played for a while, she came to wash my sister, and I immediately noticed her skin turning red from the scrubbing. Fear rushed over me. I lathered my washcloth with soap and began washing my body. I pleaded with my grandmother to let me wash myself, showing her that I was old enough and capable. She conceded, and I escaped the rough scrubbing. You see, my grandmother’s hands were heavy.
Now here I am in my early fifties, potty training a toddler for the first time. I noticed a pattern: every time I wiped her bottom, she braced herself. At first, I thought she was simply being dramatic. Then she started crying when I mentioned bathtime. I thought she was going through a phase, but then I noticed her cringing when I washed her body. I laughed out loud. Could it be that she was experiencing “grandma’s hands”?
The Legacy In Our Hands
On this motherhood journey, I find it amazing that we unconsciously carry forward the ways of the women who raised us. Whether those habits are positive or negative, they become part of us, and once we become mothers, they often surface instinctively. I believe this is a gift. We can take what was handed to us and reshape it with intention before passing it on to our children. Harmful patterns can be broken, and healthy ones can be strengthened. In that way, we create a legacy that still bears the imprint of the hands that raised us.
I had the privilege of being raised by a mother who parented with intention. Her hands were heavy, too. During my childhood, her hands guided us spiritually. Every Saturday morning, she prayed with us and taught us our Sunday school lessons. During the week, we attended church on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Friday nights, and on Sundays we went to both morning and evening services.
My mother also prioritized our education. She enrolled us in schools that prepared us for college, and when the education was lacking, she moved us to better ones. As a result, each of her children earned a college degree: one is working on a master’s, one has a master’s, and one has a doctorate. Each of us attends church and serves in ministry with children. My mother built on the teachings and habits she received from her own mother and, with great care and purpose, strengthened both our spiritual lives and our education.
Redefining Heavy Hands
When I became a mother, teaching my children about God was my highest priority, and making sure they received an excellent education was a close second. Those values came naturally because they had been modeled for me. My upbringing was structured and strict, so my hands were heavy in those areas too. At the same time, I decided I wanted to balance that strong foundation with affection, quality time, and fun. I told my girls I loved them every day. I gave hugs and kisses often. I spent time with them watching Disney movies, going bowling, and celebrating the end of the week with special treats.
When my oldest daughter turned seventeen, I began organizing an annual girls’ trip where we wore matching pajamas and cooked our favorite meals. I scheduled girl days consisting of manicures and pedicures. As a family, we went to movies and theatrical plays, and regularly took family vacations. Motherhood took on a new form when I gave birth to my fourth daughter. By then, I had learned how quickly eighteen years can pass, so I decided to increase my “heavy hands” in the area of enjoyment and ease up a little in the area of structure. The day did not always have to be so disciplined. I wanted to spend more time playing, laughing, and cuddling.
Now I am intentional about joining my youngest daughter in her world instead of simply directing it. I play with her instead of placing her in a play area. I chase her around the house when she says, “Let’s run, Mommy.” I get on the seesaw and slide at the playground. We read books together, take nature walks, build with Legos, and laugh when the towers come crashing down. I do not insist that she color inside the lines, and I do not constantly measure whether she is “on target.” I focus on making memories with her.
I realize that “Grandma’s hands” are not only literal, but they are also figurative. I have learned that I tend to wash and wipe my toddler too harshly. So, when these times come, I intentionally move slowly and gently. I use her reactions to my touch to help gauge my movement. As mothers, we have the power to place heavy hands in areas that build strong, healthy children, but we also have the power to adjust those hands when they become hurtful. A mother’s hands shape the lives of her children forever. This takes place one memory at a time for a lifetime. So be flexible, be intentional, and enjoy the gift of placing your hands into your child’s life.
