Monthly Archives: July 2013

Grandma’s Hands

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Today I had the privilege to attend a memorial service for our dear friend Jean that I had previously  posted about. Chuck and Jean had planned to celebrate their anniversary at the end of this month. Next month my husband Danny and I should celebrate our 38th anniversary. We really do not know what tomorrow holds and so we strive to live each day without regrets.

Danny’s parents died when he was a young boy. After we were married and expecting our first child we asked an older couple in our church to be our other set of grandparents to our children. They graciously agreed and our children have always loved them. A few years ago Grandpa John left us for heaven but left a spiritual legacy that still profoundly affects our adult children.

We are thankful Grandma Ruth is still with us. It is comforting to know that she has prayed many a prayer for us over the years and we pray for her and love her as a mother. She has been an invaluable source of counsel and comfort to us. We are blessed.

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Not too long ago she sent me this poem. I’d like to post it in her honor and that of my dear friend Jean who was also a praying grandmother. I hope you are blessed by it.

GRANDMA’S HANDS¬†— by Melinda Clements

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 she 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.

Mom Jones Hands

 

“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.”

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.