Dear Sonic,

This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write.  I never thought I would have to say these words to you, but I'm afraid it's over.

There are some things I just have to say to you before I walk out of your life forever.  First I want you to know that it's not you, it's me.  I have to make some changes in my life right now, and I can't be dependant on you while I do that.  You are the first thing on my mind when I wake up in the morning, and sometimes even the last think I see before I go to bed at night.  Your styrofoam cups and crushed ice have become a part of me and it kills me to think about what my days will be like without you.

Your sausage breakfast bistro has been at times the only "real food" Sam has eaten during the course of the day, and I have to say that this break up will be just as hard on him as it is on me!  But for the sake of our health we just have to make a clean break.

I will miss seeing Rashelle, whose smiling face appears through your window each morning, as well as all the others who know me by name and cheerfully pass me my Route 44 Diet Dr. Pepper each day, sometimes twice!

If it's ok with you, we can still have a few days together so that our parting will not seem so sudden.  I'm sure that from time to time our paths will cross - you will always be my weakness and I know that I cannot live without you forever.  But for now I have to do what's best for me, and that means exercise and a healthy diet.  I'm sorry!

Thank you for all the hunger you have filled and the thirst you have quenched in me.  I will miss you more than you know......

I Have My Mother's Hands

The past few years I have noticed one alarming thing about my hands.  They are beginning to look just like my mother's hands (sorry, Mom.  Don't be mad.  It gets better!)  They have the appearance of a much older woman - loose, wrinkly skin. Old lady hands. This has bothered me, as I don't want any part of me to age, especially parts that are so visible to the rest of the world!   I apply hand cream liberally each day, trying to stop the clock, but it's not working.  I will never have long, lean, smooth fingers again.

Today during church, I was examining my hands and thinking about the similarities between them and my mother's hands, and instead of feeling disappointment or sadness, another feeling swept through me, and I began to cry.  The feeling was gratitude.  As images of all the things that my mother has used her hands to do and to teach me, I began to feel lucky that this is a trait we share.

I have seen my mother's hands help build our house and make it into a home.  Her hands have cared for her children, made us dinners, cleaned our rooms, sewn our clothes, bandaged our boo-boos, and wiped our tears.

Her hands have cared for the elderly, served countless church members and neighbors, brought meals to friends, helped care for underprivileged children in another country and even helped those who have passed away be prepared for burial.

Her hands have played the viola and taught us to love music, lead choirs and clapped in accompaniment as we presented concerts and dances in the living room as children.

Her hands have taught me how to sew and crochet, and also shared these skills with my daughters.  Her hands have made blankets, shawls, hats, scarves, booties, and beautiful lacy runners that have found a home in the temple.

Her hands are worn because they have spent a lifetime working and serving others.  As I examine my own hands and notice the similarities, I count myself lucky to have something that reminds me of the legacy of service that my mother has given me through example.  And I hope that I can live up to that legacy.

And I am grateful today to have my mother's hands.