Isaiah 6:8

8 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Grandma's Hands

My friend Rita sent me an email this morning and I sat at my desk and squalled like a baby.  I adored my grandmother with all my heart.  She was shorter than me from the time I was in the fifth grade so I called her little grandmother.  In my Spanish world I would have called her abuelita.  Anyways the email was so touching and you all know I have a thing about hands...and baby's on this gloomy, cold, wet morning I thought I would share it.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Thanks Rita!
"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, strong voice. "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. "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 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 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. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face. My kids will relate to Granny's hands....and I relate to grandma's hands.  Hope your Wednesday is great!  XXOO


Mary said...

That was amazing! I missed out on knowing my grandparents: 3 of them had already passed away before I was born, and my maternal grandmother lived in Tx., so we only saw her every other year. And, I never saw her walk.

Nel said...

Yes I love this! And I cry everytime I read it. Thanks for sharing!
until next time... nel

Thena said...

Now that I'm a grandmother(Nana). I've told my daughter I would love a picture of the hands of the 4 generations, while my Mom is still here with us.

Mimi said...

Yet another beautiful post. You're such a great writer.

Hugs & love,

That corgi :) said...

what a beautiful story about our hands, we take them for granted, but......truly a blessing our hands are!!

so neat you got to know your grandmother, my grandmother was the only one alive of all my grandparents when I was born but she spoke Polish and we didn't know Polish (obviously my mom did but didn't teach it to us) so there was always a language barrier and then we moved away when I turned seven and she died three years later.

thanks for sharing this very touching story!


Jerralea said...

Very touching, Karen! I think we all take our hands for granted until something happens and then they don't work as well.

I hate seeing the veins in my hands now, but I'm so thankful that they still work well!