Sunday, February 13, 2011

Grandpa's Hands (A reminder of my Dad)

(I read this story and wanted to post it, I hope you enjoy it)


(This photo is actually the hands of an ex-slave)

Grandpa 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 I asked him, “Are you Okay?”

hands Bible

"Have you ever looked at your hands, 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.
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    (Elsie Mae’s hand and Great Grandpas hand)
  • As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.
  • ashkar-tim-praying-hands
  • 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.
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  • (Great Grandmas hands, holding Elsie Mae)

They trembled and shook when I buried my parents and friends and walked my daughter down the aisle.

  • They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleaned 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."
  • imagesCAA2C0A9jesusCarryingWoman

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 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 on my face.

Author unknown

I remember my dad’s hands, he was a preacher, but his hands were tough. He was never afraid of manual labor, he seemed to relish it. I will never forget them.

Nite Shipslog



A place where women curl up and dye. 



Here is a 1951 Buick Special waiting on a Steam engine. I loved to smell that smoke.


Jen said...

One needs to exercise both mind and body to be healthy. There is nothing wrong with manual labor.

Reader Wil said...

This is a very beautiful tribute to grandpa's hands. May be a good idea for a meme called "Our Hands".Thanks for the very nice and flattering comment.

shirl72 said...

That is a very touching story. It seems like my hands aged before my body. I guess it is from
the hard work I put them through all these years.
I have heard your hands tell your Character.
A beautiful entry.


Lucy said...

A great entry. I have always noticed peoples hands and will always remember my dad's hands.

~mel said...

I LOVED this entry, it even made me a little teary eyed. It reminded me so much of my Dad and his hands. I remember holding his hands the day before he died and how frail they looked; yet how strong they had been in his healthy younger years ... and all the things that they had accomplished. I wrote a letter about it that the pastor had read at his funeral ~ including some of the lyrics of one of my favorite songs by Holly Dunn called Daddy's Hands.

Anonymous said...

outstanding. outreaching.

please have you all a good new week.

Dar said...

Like Mel stated, this entry made me cry remembering Daddy's hands, so strong, precise as he built his dulcimers, a banjo, a glider rocker before it's time, the spinning wheel, tables, benches, canoes and riverboats. He was great with his strong hands, yet so gentle with each of us as he held our hands when we hurt, so soft on my back as we danced at mine and Bills wedding. It was his first dance without his cane. I have to stop now, with the memory of his hands, for they were not the only strong hands of our lives. Mom still has the strongest and most lovely hands. Hers were the strength that Dad relied on to carry him through his golden years. Hands. Thank you Jack, once again, for spurring a great many memories.

Fred Alton said...

Yeah, Jack. I miss that smoke from that ol Buick too! ☻ That is a wonderful piece about Grandpa's hands and I love the way you took pictures of great-grandma holding Elsie's hands. You are a very gifted writer and I'm privileged to call you "My Friend".

Fred Alton said...

I meant to say about the pictures - of great grandpa and great grandma - holding the baby's hands.