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Posts: 1,153GRANDPA'S HANDS
>
> 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 there 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 dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life.
>
> 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 friends 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 thank 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.
>
>
Newcastle, OntarioHi Nancy,
I re-read your post twice. What a lovely tribute - I will remember it!
hugs,
Brenda
Posts: 1,153I am glad you enjoyed it Brenda...I did too.
My maternal grandfather lived to be 1 month shy of being a centurion. This sounds so much like him, it really spooked me. I loved him dearly...well, both my grandfathers. They were wonderful men.
Nancy
Winneybears and FriendsBeautiful....Winney
Cleathero Creationslovely,maybe I should print it up and get my girls to decorate it for their pop.
Patsy Lake BearsWhat a lovely story Nancy thank you
DoodlebearsBeautiful Nancy, just beautiful!
Jane 
Back Road BearsWell, Nancy, you did it! 
My grandpa was a farmer and the local tractor repair mechanic. He had HUGE hands with a lot of 'character' to them. He used to sit with me on his lap and tell me where each scar came from, why that knuckle was bigger than the others and then in the midst of it all he'd he say "Ya know what these hands do best, don't you? Count ribs!" He'd then tickle me until I couldn't breathe by pretending to count my ribs!
He died in '92. We sang a special song at his graveside service. A country song by Holly Dunn called "Daddy's Hands". Nancy, I hope you won't mind if I post the lyrics to another great tribute to the special men in our lives:
I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love .....
In Daddy´s hands.
Posts: 1,153Oh Daphne, that was beautiful too.
It is funny about hands...and when you mentioned about your grandfather telling about his scars, I have a rather silly reminder of Grandpa on my hand. I was 5 and curled up on his lap. He was lighted his pipe and just as he blew out the match and was getting ready to put it in the ashtray, I moved my hand right in thepath and I got burnt. Well, Grandpa was crushed of course, but I have this little scar that is the perfect shape of a match head on my hand that is a constant reminder of the day I got smothered in kisses and hugs to try to make up for it (even tho it wasn't his fault) !
As far as 'Daddy's' hands...for me they were never there. My father was hardly ever home and was not much of a father (he was a provider and that is all)...but boy did my grandpa's make up for it.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful song...I loved it.
Nancy
Posts: 2,203I adore my Grandpops! Thankyou for that.
