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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
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
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 dried the tears of my children and caressed the love
of my life. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I
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
Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that
I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the
letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my
parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the aisle.
Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of
a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friends foot.
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 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. But I
remember God reached out and took my grandpa's hands and
led him home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I
stroke the face of my children and wife 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.
Father, I ask you to bless my friends reading this right
now. I am asking You to minister to their spirit at this
Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy.
Where there is self doubting, release a renewed confidence
in Your ability to work through them.
Where there is tiredness, or exhaustion, I ask You to give
them understanding, patience, and strength as they learn
submission to your leading.
Where there is spiritual stagnation, I ask You to renew
them by revealing Your nearness, and by drawing them into
greater intimacy with You.
Where there is fear, reveal Your love, and release to them
Your courage. Where there is a sin blocking them, reveal
it, and break its hold over my friend's life.
Bless their finances, give them greater vision, and raise
up leaders and friends to support and encourage them.
Give each of them discernment to recognize the evil forces
around them, and reveal to them the power they have in You
to defeat it.
I ask You to do these things in Jesus' name.
In Love, Your Friend