I ran across a short story that impressed me very much. Being interested in family, family trees, and family history I read the story with much interest. It brought memories to mind and helped me to remember my grandmother with much gratitude as she used her hands to teach me how to play the piano, make cookies from what was in the cupboards, how to create dinners with very few ingredients in the refrigerator.
I remember my mother’s hands as she helped me prepare school presentations, learn how to use the stove, rolling pin, and pastry brush. My mother’s hands taught my hands how to prepare fruit and vegetables for canning and freezing – how to process them, and finally use them to feed my own family.
I remember how amazed I was watching my own daughter learn to use her hands as she learned how to sew, keep house, cook, and arrange flowers.
The biggest reward is seeing my granddaughter learn to eat, count, be gentle with animals, musical instruments, and things around her as she begins her exploration of this beautiful world.
Here is the story – Author Unknown
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 voice strong.
‘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 God.’
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.
Getting to know my own ancestors and family tree members is one of the major reasons I love genealogy!
Tags: stories
