Whenever I see the word, mom, only one person comes to mind. My mom. The word, mom, to me is defined as Chrystal Otterstedt. There aren't enough words to say how amazing and incredible she is. Time after time in her life, she has been the perfect picture of grace. Always making peace. Always believing the best. Always having faith in people. Even when people let her down. She forgives quickly. She never holds a grudge. She gives and gives and gives. She gives so much that she thinks of herself last. In all honesty, she gets trampled upon. Even so, she shows grace. And she forgives. And she forgets. I'm proud to call her, Mom. I'm proud to call her, best friend. I'm proud to call her, mine.
One thing I love about her is her hands. Her hands are beautiful. I catch myself quite often looking down at my hands and wishing they looked more like hers. I find hers beautiful for two reasons. One, they are actually, really beautiful hands. And for some reason, hands are important to me. I feel like they tell you a lot about a person. Two, it's what she's done with them. It's every meal she's made with them. Every dish she's washed. Every tear she's wiped. Every scraped knee she's bandaged. It's every hug. Every touch.
I'm thankful tonight, and every night, for my mom. I often wonder what might have become of me if I had been born to any other woman but my mother. I think I'd be lost. Wandering. I'm thankful for the person she is. I'm thankful that she has taught me about grace, and forgiveness, and love. I'm thankful that I am blessed with such an incredible lady to call, Mom.
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