My Grandma's Hands

After she passed away, I had the privilege of choosing from my grandma’s old cookbooks those I wanted to keep. When I brought the books home and thumbed through them again, a piece of paper fell from one of the books to the floor. It was a note that my grandma had written in her own hand “Gone to the store, I’ll be right back.” It was signed “Love Sally.” The note was not written to me, it was written to my grandpa, but when I recognized her hand writing – I had to touch it. I wanted to caress each letter and somehow feel her presence. The note captured a moment in time, a moment of her everyday life and it was as if I had walked through the window of time and stood in her kitchen there with her while she poured herself into her work, cooking and baking and canning.
I could also see her later in life, as she aged, and was no longer able to stand for hours at a time in the kitchen. She kept her hands busy quilting, wanting to make sure all of her children, and grandchildren, and even many of her great grandchildren, had something made by her hands. She stayed up late at night, sometimes even falling asleep in the chair working on her beloved quilts.
On our wedding day, my grandma gave to me and my husband a wedding quilt. Each and every block, every strip that holds it together, the fine quilting - every stitch of it, was all done by her hand. That was almost twenty five years ago. On the back of the quilt, in her own hand writing was a note to me, “Made Especially for Karen, Love Grandma Sally.” When I pull that quilt out of its chest and wrap it around me I can feel every thought, and every prayer she said for me while she stitched on it, hour upon hour. Maybe even some of those prayers are still being answered today.
Although I never heard her say it, I know that in sharing her heart through her handiwork, she was offering the love of God. Reaching out to those she most cared about, hoping that they too, could find the peace and joy that she found in Jesus Christ.
My grandma died six years ago and I can’t count how many times I have reflected on her wisdom and her character when I’ve been troubled. Just having something that she has laid her hands on brings me a sense of longing to see her and a sense of peace, comfort, and hope knowing where she is.
On the day she died, there lying next to her, in the lap of a Hospice volunteer, was a note written to her that said, “I have gone to prepare a place for you…I will be back for you soon…. Love, Jesus” In that moment, I’m sure He grasped a hold of her hands, hands that had served Him well, and welcomed her home.