Grandma, some 90 plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn’t move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands. Not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was okay. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. “Yes, I am fine, thank you for asking,” she said in a clear strong voice. ” I didn’t meant to disturb you, Grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were fine,” I explained to her. “Have you ever looked at your hands?” I slowly opened my hands and started down at them. Grandma smiled and related the following 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, shrivelled 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 held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my new born 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 neighbours, and shook in fits 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 mark of where I have been and ruggedness of life. But more importantly it will be by these hands that God will lift me to His side and there i will use these hands to touch the face of Divine.” I will never look at my hands the same way again. 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.
