Crayons For Jesus


The Bright Fingernails Print E-mail
By Rebeckah Reader   
Growing up, my stepmother had the longest fingernails I had ever seen.  Usually painted a bright orange or a bright red polish, they would “click” against each other. Though a sign of her femininity, those nails rendered my stepmother incapable of opening cans, picking up small pieces of trash, and properly wearing gloves.

Though often a source of humor and ample ground for teasing, those nails were also a source of comfort for me as a child.

Anytime I was frightened or hurting, my stepmother was there. I’d lay my head in her lap as the hot tears strolled down my chubby cheeks. As my shoulders tightened up and my sniffles turned into sobs, my stepmother would begin to softly massage my back.

Her long fingernails would slide across my tense muscles repeatedly. She would make circles between my shoulder blades as she began to soothe me. With each wave across my back came a wave of relief across my being.

The presence of her fingernails and her touch reassured me of her presence. As my momentary upheaval reached its peak, my stepmother would take the burden of whatever it was from me. 

My wailing soon subsided into sobs and then back into sniffles until I was silent. The repeated motion was a repeated assurance that she cared.

No matter how late it was in the night, she would run her fingernails across my back and through my hair until I feel asleep.

There were usually no words, just her.

With no words, she showed me that she knew of my pain and that she had come to take care of it, to take care of me.

In those moments, she was all that I needed. Even after those moments passed, she stayed softly lulling me to safety and to sleep.

I’m older now and my pain extends far deeper than a simple nightmare or a scratched knee. My stepmother is no longer a room away and it’s been years since I’ve felt her fingernails easing the tension between my shoulders.

The comfort of a mother is sometimes too far for too many reasons.

Though that is the case now that I’m older, in moments of magnified heartache, fear, or longing – I feel a different hand upon me.

In the moments where I am in the darkness and when I feel my eyes well up with hot tears, I begin to curl into a ball. A moan deep in my soul cries out. As the tears begin to fall and my shoulders begin to tense, I feel God’s spirit fill the area around me.
Though I’m pretty certain God does not have orange fingernails, I am certain that his comfort is always near in the time of trouble.

Regardless of the circumstances for my cry, He hears it and immediately comes to my need.

He may not give an answer to me in that moment, but he always gives me the comfort that I need.

There are no words, just Him.

As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.  Isaiah 66:13