Hands

I looked down at my hands as I read this and I felt a strange feeling hitting me!!!!...then I knew what it meant!!!.........perhaps you will feel it,too!!! Look at your hands!!!

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Grandpa's Hands    This  is good. I'll  never look at my hands the same!  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   son.  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 daughter 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. I know that God reached out, 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.  As  you read and think about  this, please say a prayer for those you love.. Then you can watch God's answer to prayer work in their lives. In addition let's  continue praying for one another. Shared by  Corinne Mustafa     from an email sent by Judi Lane