GRANDPA'S HANDS ~~~ Submitted by Larry Staker

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 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.  

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 

daughters down 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 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 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.

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."