The Hands of a Grandparent

I liked this, so thought I'd share. I hope you like it too.
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Have you ever looked at your hands? I mean really looked at your hands?

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 put on my boots.

They held my spouse 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 show the world that I am married and love someone special.

They write letters to friends and family. They trembled and shook when I buried loved ones. 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 my body.

They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day, when not much of anything else seems to work 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, I hope that it will be these hands that God will reach out and take as he leads me home.

I will never look at my hands the same again.

Author Unknown