Grandma's Hands

Autumn reminds me of my grandmother and trips we took to see the fall colors, buy a few trinkets, pick a few pumpkins and talk over fresh baked pie and coffee.

For some reason, when I think about my grandmother, I think about her hands...

Grandma's hands wore
the pages of the
Bible she read every day.

Grandma's hands baked
the bread,that built the church,
that I grew up in.

Grandma's hands raised
11 small children,
all by herself,
when she lost her husband.

Grandma's hands cooked
the dinners,
that brought us all together.

Grandma's hands comforted
me,
as she held my hand in hers,
the day I lost my mother,
and she lost a daughter.

Grandma's hands held
my mother's,
the morning she
said goodbye.

Grandma's hands
were held up high,
in praise to God,
every Sunday,
despite the trials
she endured.

Grandma's hands caressed,
the ultrasound picture
of my firstborn daughter,
who she never got to see.

Oh how I miss my grandma's hands,
and the happiness I knew,
and the love I felt,
all in the touch of my grandma's hands