A Few of FR's Finest....Every Day....01-16-08....Warm Fuzzy Wednesday ~ Grandma's Hands

[Billie]

A Few of FR's Finest....Every Day

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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 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 voice strong.

"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 u p, 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 Christ."

I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember 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.

I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

03-27-07 ~ Hall of Fame #19 ~ Final

THIS WEEK'S THREADS 01-14,15-08 Military Tribute

Opinions by our own 'King of Ping' Every Thursday at the Finest The guy's good, folks!

[jaycee]

Awwww~~~is all I can think of!

[jaycee]

I didn’t want to get off here in a few minutes and not say hello, G.B. Hope you had a great day....we are expecting bad weather for the next two days.....hope they are wrong! LOl~~

[Lady Jag]

Hey, you’re supposed to knock first!

[jaycee]

Your picture is beautiful, L.J.!

[NicknamedBob]

You may remember this one ...

... your story about Grandma's hands reminded me of my Dad's hands.

Gnarled

The hands reach out, once more again,
Adept at dealing with tasks at hand.
Gnarled, and twisted, but so strong,
And used to setting right what’s wrong.

Could he have been a surgeon? No,
Though dextrous, these fingers were not so,
With delicate strength of fine control,
And subtle movements in a larger whole.

His were the hands that swung a pick,
Or axe, and metal tools held by a stick,
The swinging arm, the muscles bunched,
No music from the things he crunched.

He beat the world down all around,
To make his place, and stand his ground.
No task was easy from his birth,
His was a world of stubborn earth.

And yet, in gross examples of his art,
He showed the love deep in his heart.
His strength was guided in its course,
By limits to the use of force.

And when the oak was split, and planed,
He felt the smoothness that he’d gained.
Removing roughness was his art,
He practiced it upon his heart.

He could have held a wolf at bay,
And yet I well recall the day,
His little dog was taken ill,
The tears from every eye did spill.

And though his strength was that of ten,
He could not work his magic then,
No tools he had would fill the bill,
His gnarled and twisted hands lay still.

The roughness of the world struck back,
And proved that it could still attack.
How like a splinter one small pet,
Will not allow one to forget.

His work is done now, his hands rest.
It’s now my turn to pass the test.
I’ve set out on my own grand quest.
His work is done now. His hands rest.

NicknamedBob . . . . February 20, 2005

[jaycee]

I don't know what kind of owls these are but BooBoo might like to see them!

[JustAmy]

Wonderful story for Warm Fuzzy Wednesday, Billie. Thank you!!

[Lady Jag]

Actually we only got 6”. Heavy and wet as it was, out driving last night was gorgeous. All the trees were snow covered and weighed down and even at night, when the Jag’s headlights hit things they appeared like beautiful exotic sculptures.

The sun was beautiful on everything today although it did cause a lot of melting off trees and limbs. It’s still pretty but I surly missed that camera.

[jaycee]

Yeah, golly, I about walked in on something~~LOL~~

[JustAmy]

Prissy Missy with Louie/Max's family. They came to visit Saturday.
Ooops ... should be nine. One followed mama. : )
Have a wonderful Warm Fuzzy Wednesday.

[jaycee]

Looking for Warm and Fuzzy?? Fuzzball

[jaycee]

How adorable! Prissy Missy and the puppies!

[JustAmy]

Awww .... thank you. Here is another.



Time to leave. : (

[jaycee]

Now thats a lot of puppies but aren’t they darling? Is that your little darling “Prissy Missy”?

[JustAmy]

Yep ... that’s my PrissyMissy. She is eight years old; she can’t decide whether she wants to be a tomboy or a prissy missy. : )

Those puppies are from a litter of 12. They are 5 weeks old. There were 10 male and 2 females; she lost three so there are nine left. Only one female with 8 brothers. : )

[MEG33]

Amy..Puppies and Prissy Missy..How wonderful! Great pictures! So adorable.

[MEG33]

AWwwwww

[MEG33]

Wonderful poem, Bob..Thank you!

[MEG33]

Looks like a fairy tale. Lovely!

[MEG33]

I thought it was worth a repost..It makes me smile.

Stay warm, jaycee..We are going to be cold at night but in the 50s during the day so I cannot complain.

Still haven’t had much needed rain here.