Friday, November 6, 2015

This Woman's Hands

In quiet restful moments, he'll tell you his Grandmother had lovely hands.

He likes to tell the stories.  He loves to remember with every sense.

He can still feel her comforting hands on his back as a child. He says they were strong, yet soft. They worked and worked hard, yet were soft and soothing to his mind, heart, and spirit when he needed them.

They took away pain and calmed.

They made the best pancakes, root beer floats, and cakes in the World! They kept a tidy, tightly run ship of a house. They knew how to set a table properly and to Serve in more ways than one. They played piano and organ. They painted. They helped him with his homework afterschool. They held books, especially a Bible, often.

Her hands, as he recalls them, are remembrances of feeling love and being loved. He sighs, gratefully, without needing words to express it further. At these times, as a grown man, he is as content as a well-fed infant after a bath.

That little boy's feelings and his memories are stored carefully away. They come out at precious times. They are special and I feel that much more special and smile. Why?

Because of the times he closes his eyes, breathes deeply and tells me I have his Grandmother's hands.

Reboot Challenge: Mine? To try something a little different today. What's yours?

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