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Oh my gosh, how I love that last picture of your grandma! My hands (like many things on my body) aren’t pretty any more. They don’t say, “what will we do?”, as much as they say, “Look what we’ve done!” Sometimes I miss the young hands, I admit. But I don’t miss the immaturity and insecurity that went with them.
Your Grandma looks beautiful, Christa! I only had the pleasure of spending such a small amount of time with her, but the imprints she made on my heart will remain with me forever – she is one special lady! You are so blessed to have her in your life ~ and I love that you recognize that ~ that you don’t let a moment go by that you don’t cherish and relish the times past, the present…….and look forward to the days ahead with her. And you capture so many tender moments with your creative and beautiful photography………a photo journal that your girls and their families and their families will cherish always……..
Christa, This is a good reminder of why our hands are the way they are. They’ve lived. They’ve worked. And God has held them as they lived and worked.
Here’s a poem I’d like to share on the same theme… It’s my hands that remind me to be honest, and hold on to the eternal truths, and to love.
I remember the day I looked down and saw my mother’s hands. At least the ones I remember holding as a little girl. One day I’ll be seeing my grandmother’s hands as well. This is such a great post, Christa! Thanks for sharing it with us.
Thank you for not showing mine! I LOVE your perspective, though. And agree about Mom’s! I want that beautiful pic!
I will look at my hands differently today, not old and brown and wrinkly, but well-lived.
My hands were made to hold little hands. And those hands don’t care how old mine are. Thanks for your post.
Oh my gosh, how I love that last picture of your grandma! My hands (like many things on my body) aren’t pretty any more. They don’t say, “what will we do?”, as much as they say, “Look what we’ve done!” Sometimes I miss the young hands, I admit. But I don’t miss the immaturity and insecurity that went with them.
Your Grandma looks beautiful, Christa! I only had the pleasure of spending such a small amount of time with her, but the imprints she made on my heart will remain with me forever – she is one special lady! You are so blessed to have her in your life ~ and I love that you recognize that ~ that you don’t let a moment go by that you don’t cherish and relish the times past, the present…….and look forward to the days ahead with her. And you capture so many tender moments with your creative and beautiful photography………a photo journal that your girls and their families and their families will cherish always……..
Christa, This is a good reminder of why our hands are the way they are. They’ve lived. They’ve worked. And God has held them as they lived and worked.
Here’s a poem I’d like to share on the same theme… It’s my hands that remind me to be honest, and hold on to the eternal truths, and to love.
BIRTHDAY
My hands … they don’t grow smoother
Not like manners
Which learn accomodation
Nor convictions
Slip sliding into rationalization
Very beautiful! When I think of hands, I think of those of my dad. Strong and gentle hands with the strength to open anything.
I remember the day I looked down and saw my mother’s hands. At least the ones I remember holding as a little girl. One day I’ll be seeing my grandmother’s hands as well. This is such a great post, Christa! Thanks for sharing it with us.