GRANDPA'S HANDS...

      I'll  never look at my hands the  same!

 

Grandpa,  some  ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He   didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his   hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my  presence  and  the longer I sat,  I wondered  if he was  OK.

Finally,  not really wanting to disturb  him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked  him if  he was OK.

He  raised his head  and looked at me and smiled.  "Yes, I'm  fine.  Thank you for  asking," he said in a clear strong  voice.

"I  didn't mean to  disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just  sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make  sure you were  OK," I explained to him.  

"Have  you ever  looked at your hands," he 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 he was making. Grandpa  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 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 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  trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the  aisle. 

*  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 my 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  Christ."

 

I will  never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out  and took my grandpa's hands and led him  home.

When  my hands are  hurt or sore I think of Grandpa.  I know he  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.

When  you receive  this, say a prayer for the person who sent it to you and  watch God's answer to prayer work in your life.  Let's continue praying for one another.