GRANDMAS HANDS

> *GRANDMA' S HANDS A must read!
>
> Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn't
> move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.
>
> When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the
> longer I sat I wondered if she was OK.
>
> Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at
> the same time, I asked her if sh...e was OK. She raised her head and looked at
> me and smiled. 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,' she said in a clear
> voice strong.
>
> 'I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here
> staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,' I explained
> to her.
>
> 'Have you ever looked at your hands,' she asked. 'I mean really looked at
> your hands?'
>
> I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms
> up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands
> as I tried to figure out the point she was making.
>
> Grandma smiled and related this story:
>
> 'Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served
> you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriveled and
> weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and
> embrace life.
>
> 'They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.
>
> They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother
> taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my
> boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.
>
> 'They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy
> and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding
> band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.
>
> They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my
> parents and spouse.
>
> 'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and
> shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand.
>
> They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest
> of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw.
> And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these
> hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.
>
> 'These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life.
>
> But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and
> take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side
> and there I will use these hands to touch the face of God.'
>
> I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached
> out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands are hurt or
> sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of
> grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of
> God.
>
> I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

BY GEORGIA BUCKINGHAM