theweddinghelper
08-04-2006, 06:31 PM
> 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
>
> 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