Maurine Perkins loved my hands.  Every single time I saw her, she'd hold them in her own, stroke them from top to bottom, and tell me how pretty they were.  Didn't matter if the nails were manicured - or even filed or painted for that matter, she told me how soft and lovely my hands were.  I thought about that a lot recently, as I had my very first manicure.  The manicurist was a long-time employee, so I'm sure she'd held a lot of hands, but she made no comment about how extraordinary MY hands were, as Maurine always did.  Maurine died yesterday, at 93. The last time I saw her was too long ago, when a friend and I visited her at the nursing home where she'd moved. She was still Maurine, although a little "less" her... if you get it.  And since I'm not the best at visiting nursing homes, that's the last memory I have of her. Sad.... 

Maurine never made excuses for her hard life; one of an alcoholic husband, 5 children, and great faith.  In my early years, I remember stories about her husband - how he was known as the "town drunk", and how Maurine stood by him and raised their children. She could tell you stories that would make most of us wives run for the hills, but she didn't.  She stayed. His own funeral was full of folks he'd helped in his later years, as I'm sure her's will be.  It spoke of learning from your demons, of making peace in all situations, and of taking where you'd been and helping others with that knowledge.  It was quite a testimony of commitment in life.

And that's what I take from Maurine. Her innate faith in God and His Word; His Church as a support in life's hardest times, and the knowledge that He will take us to Him after we draw our last breath. Because of Maurine and many like her, when things get rough in my life, or I question God's will, I can stand firm.  I will not run, I will not falter, I will not quit.

Rest in peace, my dear sister, Maurine.