I Have Two Little Hands

I just had the story below sent to me in my email today.  It really made me start thinking about how I really haven’t thought about how much I use my hands and how much there is to be grateful for that I have them!

There’s so much we use our hand for that we just take for granted!  Including typing this post!  I can’t express how grateful I am that I have ‘two little hands’ that work!

Have you every tried to put on a pair of pants or socks or something with one hand?  I’ve tried to do that sort of thing while I’m brushing my teeth with an electric tooth brush.  It’s not like you can just let go of the tooth brush and leave it in your mouth while you use the other hand to pull those pants up, or put a sock on.  The thing is heavy for starters…. plus the motor is running/vibrating so you can’t just let go of it.  It’s not an easy thing to do with one hand.

There are many people who do lots of things with one hand or in some cases…. no hands!  I’m continually amazed at how they do it.  Inspiring.

This story made me not only grateful that I have two healthy hands, but it made me realize how blessed I am to be able to feel with those two hands!  Touch is an amazing thing.  It can create all kinds of sensations.  It can be a warm fuzzy or cozy thing or an sleek cool icy cold thing…. or anywhere in between!

I’m grateful for my hands.  I’m grateful that I have full use of them with no pain.  They bring me much joy!  And they allow me to serve others and hopefully bring them joy too!  I hope the following story will make you stop for a minute and think about all the things you’ve been able to do with your hands…. and be grateful for your hands and for the hands of those you love!

I am Grateful!  How are You?

Grandpa’s Hands
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  voice.“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 embrace  life. 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  and walked my daughter down the aisle.
  • They  trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse  and walked my daughter down the aisle.
  • 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 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.


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