A Letter from Aaron & Grandma's Hands ( Deep)

I've been very busy and a little down these last few weeks since my boy left for the Navy. It is very hard, going from mothering someone for the last almost 18 years, to letting go and allowing him to grow up and become a man. You would think after my 3rd child left home, I would be used to this. Well, it doesn't get easier! I still have 3 to go!! Yikes, I'll be falling apart by the time little Bo leaves home. Things are just now getting back to normal around here, since Aaron left. I know he has to grow up and become the man the Lord wants him to be. I'm good with that, I'll just miss him. Instead of crying all the time now, I'm down to just being weepy eyed a few times a day. I went from having Aaron and his friends around all the time to nothing.

We had a great summer together as a family! We vacationed in South Carolina and did many other things as a family. We created many memories for our children. I took a long time off from blogging (Thanks mom for blogging in my place and thank you all for your prayers) but I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Aaron
and my other children before Aaron left home and my children went back to school. Yesterday was their first day back in school.

We received a letter from Aaron yesterday, it wasn't much but it was enough to let us know he was doing alright.

This is what he wrote,

Hey everybody,
I'm doing fine. Still in P-Days, had to wait for some more recruits to
come. I was picked for a 900 division. My division is called State
Flags. Love you all and miss you. See you after ATC.

I'll be honest, I can't wait to see my boy again!

As I was going through my emails, I came across this on Grandma's Hands. My mom sent it to me a few weeks ago.

Grandma's Hands

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 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," 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 t hen 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 the following 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 n 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 a nd 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 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. God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home. When my ha nds are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Grandma. I know she has been held by the hands of God. And I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.