His Hands

“A good father will leave his imprint on his daughter
 for the rest of her life.”
James C. Dobson
  His Hands
By Elece Hollis

As we harvested the grapes for jelly-making
I took photos of his hands;
I wanted never to forget those hands,
How they looked in my mind’s eye.

The photos shocked me—rocked me
Never would I have thought those hands
Had already become strange, drifted
My daddy’s hands—into the shallows of my memory.

I think I only imagined I knew 
What his hands looked like—those hands.
What is it I do remember? 
It’s how those hands felt holding mine.

When I was small and frightened, those hands
Caught me, lead me, nurtured me.
Those are comforting memories,
Which cannot be captured in a photograph.

Fix your thoughts on what is true and good and right.
 Think about things that are pure and lovely, and dwell 
on the fine good things in others.
Philippians 4:8 TLB

Helen Steiner Rice wrote many poems about the love of family. 
In this book her beloved poems are paired with devotional thoughts written by Elece Hollis.

Summer’s End

Summer ‘s End
What a sweet time is summer, with picnic-y fun,
Lots of long days to bask in the sun,
What a wonder the fresh foods we so much enjoy
A treat for the each girl and for each smiling boy.
What a great time for travel, for trips and vacations,
Time to go visit our friends and relations.
Summer’s the best time to slow with the heat
To sit down and share something special to eat.

There are not many arguments, problems or fights
That couldn’t be solved—at last set to rights
Over corn and tomatoes, melons, and such
That’s why in summer we don’t fuss so much.

Summer’s the best time for joy all around
It’s the time when our most happy feelings are found
 Time to pick flowers—to play in the shade
Summer’s the time our best memories are made.

©2014 Elece Hollis
Author of Taste of Christmas -Cookie Cookbook 
&Inspiration for the Season
                                  Just click here to find it:   Cookie Cookbook   

The Family Bouquet

The Family Bouquet
Nothing beats the surprise of a florist at the door with a beautiful bouquet. My sweet husband sent me a bouquet last week and it was an especially wonderful one. It was made up of roses of several colors: pink, white, and some pinks with white edges. It had a spray of orange, some purple accents, red lilies and white ones trimmed with green. There were different sizes also. Some were full blossoms with satiny petals and some swirled and curled. Some were ruffled and some speckled. Each bloom unique.
The little ones came in clusters, several on a stem, like triplets or quintuplets. Some were perfectly shaped and symmetrical and others off-centered and just a bit uneven. Like the artist’s technique of off-setting, this makes them more interesting.
One big pink rose was the focal point and first catches your eye, but then the different sizes and colors cause your eye to run through the whole bouquet. Each flower added to the overall effect and appeal. The green leaves gave contrast and the little poppies couldn’t have been sweeter!
Families are God’s bouquets—all sizes, infants, toddlers, youngsters, teens, adults, and old folks—all shapes, sizes, personality types, all adding sounds to the music of a symphony—each adding shape and color to the overall composition.
I have seven children and each is as different as can be. Alone each may be considered lovely, but
together—each is a unique part of the whole, blended with parents and grandparents and some contrasts and sweetnesses—they become another of God’s masterpieces.
When God made Adam, it was the first of His creations which He did not think was complete. He said, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” (Gen 2:18) God knew that man needed a family.

In Psalms 68: 6, David said, “God sets the solitary in families.” He gathers single flowers into full bouquets. Beautiful!

©2014 Elece Hollis, author of Oh Baby!—a little handbook for new moms available on Amazon.com

Far from Home

Sycamore leaf
Far flung from home
Alone now,
Without your kin,
Among strangers.
Free at last, you roam.
Caught, not by binding stem
To the home tree;
Caught in a new place
Low in the lowly grasses.
Sights are foreign.
Life is crowded still.
You fluttered before;
Fought furiously
Fought free; 
But you didn’t know 
How to fly.
Come rest against 
The wall, the house, 
The garden gate
‘Till you find family again.

Tomato Bowl

How many fruits have filled this bowl? 
How many tomatoes? How many apples
Were peeled into it’s curves?
Golden honey-scented pears?
How many green beans were served
With new potatoes? Sliced sugary peaches?
Ears of yellow corn? Savory vegetable soup?
How many slices of cantaloupe? Blackberries?
I wonder whose bowl it was before it was mine?
Did she use it to mix a cake
Batter for her son’s seventh birthday?
Did she love it like I do?