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 trying to make.
‘Think for a moment about your hands, how they have served you well throughout your years.
'They braced my fall when as a toddler, preventing me from crashing to 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 held your farther and wiped my tears when he was not around.
'They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold you as a baby. 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 your grandparents and uncles and aunts.
'They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbours, and shook in fists of anger when anyone of you were harmed or got mistreated.
'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 to 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 God.'
I never looked at my hands the same way again after that.