>
> -->Grandpa's Hands
>
> >  This is good; 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 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 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 son.
> >  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 and 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 friend's 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 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 or when I stroke the face of my children
> >and wife 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 .
> >  Passing this on to anyone you consider a friend will bless you both.
> > Passing this on to one not considered a friend is something Christ would
> >do.
>