Remember when someone touches your hand in time you may forget but when someone touches your heart they live in you forever.

JUST LOOK AT THE PICTURE ( it is in the attach) A GOOD WHILE, AND THEN READ THE REST. IT WILL TOUCH YOU.

I was privileged to take a photo of ‘Five Generations of Women’ shortly

before my 93 year-old Grandmother passed away last year. The photo, shown

below, features the hands of my Grandmother, Mom, Sister, Niece and

Great-Niece. While I can’t take credit for the idea, I was so happy to

have had the suggestion & capture this moment. It inspired a friend of

mine to do something similar which turned out so beautiful and a special

keepsake prior to her father’s passing.

 

Grandma’s Hands

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 strong voice.

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, andshook 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.

When you receive this, say a prayer for the person who sent it to you, and

watch God’s answer to prayer work in your life. Let’s continue praying for

one another.

Passing this on to anyone you consider a friend will bless you both.

Passing this on to one not yet considered a friend is something God would

do.