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.
"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.
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.
