Grandpa's Hands
 

Grandpa, some 90 + 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. Thanks 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 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 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 trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter doen the aisle.
* They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.
* They have been sticky and wet, bent, broken, dried and raw.
*And to this day, when not much of the rest of me works real well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer.
* These hands are the mark of where I have been and the ruggedness of my life.

I will never look at my hands the same again. When my hands are hurt or sore, I think of Grandpa's hands and the words he said to me.

That is one beautiful way to look at life!

What a beautiful story and so true.

Thanks for sharing, very beautiful story and very wonderful grandfather.

Nice story!

wonderful story. I often think of the hands of my dear parents who have gone to God. I remember them well.

Oh My. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story. I too will never look at my hands them same way. love this story.

As arthritis has caused me to be come less and less nimble fingered (have had joints fused) I always try to finish up a complaint with "at least I have hands and they still work". It's sometimes frustrating to have to pick up a needle with my right hand and place it in between my left thumb and index finger because my thumb is fused (left-handed gal here) BUT thanks be to God! ... I still have hands that mostly work!

Beautiful. Just another part of our wonderful bodies that we take for granted. As quilters we really should be pleased with our hands and eyes even if they don't work as well as they used to.

Thank you for posting that, it was a treat. Just think also of how much fabric our hands have held, played with and sewed together.