And I also got an e-mail from an old friend who happens to work as a nurse in the very same area of MD Anderson that I go to for treatments! God is still placing people in my path to help me through! Appetite is a bit better and we enjoyed some homemade quiche made by Ann. She actually, brought it over last night but I wasn't able to eat yet. But Carl sure was! And I really hoped there'd be some left by the time I was able to eat. Wonderful quiche! Thank you, my friend. I got to see Eric and Dylan for a few minutes and that was a joy for me. All in all a very restful day. Perhaps I can stock up on the energy to have for going back to work full time next week.
A friend sent me this e-mail today and it really made me stop and think about our hands and what they do. So I wanted to share it with you.
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, the more 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, 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 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"
As I read this story, I thought about so many of the things that I do with my hands. I can caress the faces of my new grandbabies. I can embrace a friend who is grieving. I can wipe away the tears on my granddaughter's face when she falls. I can put my hand in Carl's hand and feel safe and protected. I can lay my hand on the hand of a one pound baby and pray for her. All of these bring me joy. But there will be no greater joy, for me, than when my hands reach out to touch the face of God!
"The LORD your God has blessed you in all the work of your hands. He has watched over your journey through this vast desert." (Deuteronomy 2:7 NIV)
