Monday, July 23, 2007


I am so blessed to have hands. To have these hands! They are not slim with long tapered fingers and beautiful nails. But they are mine... a gift from God. And they have served me well and hopefully will continue to do so.
They have reached up and touched my mother's cheek when I was little and snuggled on her lap, and stroked her hair when she died. They have been clasped together in prayer more times than I can count. They have held two newborn daughters and now pressed their numbers on my cell phone when they needed me or I needed them. They have waved 'Hello' and waved 'Goodbye'. They have held my husbands hands as we recited our vows for the rest of our lives on earth. They have created art, music, and food. They have dried tears of laughter and sadness. Thank you God for one of your many gifts... my hands.


tweetey30 said...

I did this one about a month or so ago. A lady I made friends with is from France and she did this one in French and English for us. She is an amazing woman. She is on vacation or holiday as they call it and wont be back until sometime late August but you can check out her blog. Its Kitem on my blog.

Helen Hancock said...

Thank you for a reminder of something we so take for granted! Cheers Joni!

amy said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Wanda said...

Yes hands...your are lovely, and I see warmth, love and many hours of sewing and crafting for those you love.! Thank God for our hands.
Reall nice post, and thank you for your sweet comments on mine.

Angie said...

That was beautiful, Joni. Absolutely beautiful.

I actually *USED* my hands last night to work on a yo-yo runner for Caroline's dresser. It was fun to have a needle in my hands again.

de vliegende koe said...

Joni, you’ve said it beautifully! We take far too many things for granted.
You‘re a special lady!

Isabelle said...

I've been using my hands all day in the garden and they're rather earthy. But useful indeed.

Your packet still hasn't arrived, Joni. I feel very guilty on behalf of the postal system.

Lisa said...

Hi Joni,

Thankyou for your lovely comments on my blog, finally I've had time to look at yours. Love it, your daughters are gorgeous. My husband has done very similar things with his clothes but usually when he is called into the hospital during the night and he just pulls anything on in a hurry, must get a photo one of these days.

I loved your post about your hands and it reminded me of this that I received a while back. It brought back very happy memories of my Nana. Our hands are very special and grow more so as the year go on and we experience more of life. I hope you gain something from this little piece.


Grandma's Hands

Grandma's some Seventy Seven 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 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.

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 dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They held my young husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war.

They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were firm yet gentle when I held my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band, they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They replied to the letters written home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and watched as my daughter walked down the aisle.

Yet, they were strong and sure when I grabbed my child and jerked her away from danger when a car was going too fast, and they clasped my children lovingly for stitches, broken bones, and measles. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body, and those of my family. From the day a new baby was born, to the day I washed my first love's body and prepared him for his final viewing. They have been sticky, wet, bent, broken, dried, and raw.

To this day when not much of anything else of me works real well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the richness 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 - God Bless Grandma.