angelic dreamer's blog: "touching storys"

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. Good things come to those who wait!