Grandma's Hands

Great-Great Grandma Utahna..... she is 94 years old, getting weaker every day, and may soon leave us to be with her Heavenly Father, and her beloved husband, Dee. She has always been such a great example to all of us and we love her so much. Our hearts are breaking now as she is being asked to endure some of her hardest days. Sometimes we wonder why she is suffering so, but there must be a reason and we need to have the faith that our Father in Heaven knows what is best for her and best for us. When I told her I was taking her picture, she still mustered a beautiful smile. I can't remember where I found the story printed below, but I just thought it was beautiful and it really made me think of Grandma Utahna when I read it sometime ago.

"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 okay. Finally, not really wanting to disturb her, but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was okay. 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 okay" 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 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. They have held children, 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 my life.

But more importantly, it will be these hands that God will reach out and take, when he leads me home. And with these hands, He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Jesus Christ."

I will never look at my hands the same again. But I will remember that 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. Someday, I too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face."