Grandpa's Hands

The beautiful image used here is © Tom Sierak, entitled "God, Life, Love."

Grandpa's Hands

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 okay.

Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to
check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was okay.
He raised his head and looked at me and smiled
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking ," he said in a clear voice.

I didn't mean to disturb you, grandpa, but you were just
sitting here staring at you hands and I wanted to make
sure you were okay 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 relates 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 dried the tears of my children and caressed the love
of my life. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I
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 child. Decorated with my wedding band they
showed the world that I was married and loved someone
special. They wrote the letters home, and trembled and
shook when I buried my parents, my spouse, and walked
my daughter down the aisle.

Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy
out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friends foot.
They have held children, 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 rough. 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.

We set quietly then.

I will never look at my hands the same again.
But I remember when God reached out and took my grandpa's
hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt or
sore or when I stroke the face of my children and wife
I think of grandpa. I know he is being 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 someday.

Written by:
Melinda Clements

When your time on earth has ended,
do you know that God will reach
down and take you by the hand and
take you home to live with Him?
If not, I pray that you will accept
Him, as your own personal Lord and
Savior before it is too late.

Behold, now is the accepted time
Behold, now is the day of salvation.
II Corinthians 6:2

For the plan of salvation, please
click here