- There is so much more to old, wrinkled hands than stories can share.
- Guiding, caring hands of inspiration and love are all around us if we look.
- “Take it one day at a time and put it in God’s hands.”
By Larry Whiteley
I recently read a story titled Grandpa’s Hands. It reminded me of my Grandpa and Grandma’s hands. They were old and wrinkled like the story I read. They used them to survive and raise their family on the farm where I was born and spent my early years. Their hands guided me into being the man I would become. I learned by watching them use their hands to go about their daily lives on that farm.
Grandma’s hands changed and washed my diapers. Her hands showed me how to tie my shoes or put on my boots when I was young. They combed my hair for a trip to town. They held my face when she told me that she loved me. They taught me how to fold my hands in prayer. Those same hands lay me down to sleep.
Her hands showed me how to feed the chickens, gather eggs for her from their nests, and butcher them to feed us. Those same hands taught me how to gather vegetables for her from the garden to can and cook. She also taught me how to use my hands to haul water from the spring for cooking, washing dishes, and washing hands.
Grandpa’s hands were sometimes sticky or wet, other times dried and raw, or bent and broken. This was due to all the work he had to do around the farm for us to survive. He took my hands in his and showed me how to milk the cows and feed the pigs. His hands spanked me when needed.
He used his hands to pass down his old fishing equipment and squirrel rifle to me. Then, those same hands taught me how to use them. Doing that formed the foundation for my love of the great outdoors and what I would do with my life.
Grandpa and Grandma have been gone for many years. I am now older than they were when they went home to heaven. I still remember their wrinkled hands.
I look down at my hands as I write this. They are now wrinkled like theirs were, but not from doing work like they endured. It is from years of trying to take care of my family and enjoying and writing about the great outdoors that God blessed us all with.
My hands helped teach my kids and grandkids to fish, hunt, and camp under the stars. They have reeled in and helped other kids reel in countless fish. I have placed my hands on many deer and turkeys as I thanked them for giving their life to feed my family. These hands have built many campfires and taken countless pictures of kids and grandkids with their first squirrel, deer, turkey, or fish.
These hands held a son close as he cried when his dog died. They hugged another son when he got his first deer as a grown man. My hands wiped away my tears when I was the Best Man at both of their weddings. They wiped away tears again when I found out our youngest son had cancer.
My hands held a granddaughter close when she was missing her mom and dad. Those hands wiped away her tears and told her that Grandma and I love her to God and back. When a grandson won a basketball game, baseball game, or fishing tournament, my hands gave him a high five and hugged him.
Maybe the most powerful thing I have ever done with my hands was when our youngest son and his wife adopted a little boy from Guatemala. A year later, they adopted his brother. I would tell them I loved them. I felt like I needed to do something different than say the words so they would better understand.
One day, I reached over, and their hands were in mine. I squeezed them three times. I told them it meant I love you without saying the words. That simple gesture became our special thing throughout their years of growing up. Every time we traveled to Wisconsin to visit them or they came to see us, they would squeeze my hand three times. I would squeeze their hand back three times. There was no need for words. They would smile, and so would I.
As they got older and we would text back and forth, we put three hand squeeze emojis at the end of our text. When they got to be teenagers, my son told me, “Do not expect the boys to do that hand-squeeze thing with you anymore.” They do not even give us hugs anymore.
Not long after he told me that, my wife and I drove to Kansas for our oldest grandson’s wedding. When the boys, excuse me, the teenagers saw us, they ran across the room and jumped on me. Then they reached down and grabbed my hand and squeezed it three times. They are now seventeen and eighteen. Sometimes, the three-hand squeeze emojis are still at the bottom of their text to me.
Our son is now battling cancer. When I first heard about it, I called him. He said, Dad, we will take this one day at a time and put it in God’s hands. His positive attitude has helped us and those who know him. He has been an inspiration to everyone who has heard his story.
Many hands are folded in prayer for him. He is remaining positive and trusting God through it all. His battle with cancer continues. His hands still hold a fishing pole when he and his family go fishing together. His hands make things in his workshop, and he plays with the family dogs.
Sundays at our church, I stand before everyone and make announcements. I also give them what I call “Something to Think About.” It is usually a short story that I hope will touch the hearts and minds of people there and prepare them to hear the message our pastor is about to preach.
After I lead them in prayer, I look out at the crowd and say, whatever you are facing in your life, as our son says, take it one day at a time and put it in God’s hands. I then raise my right hand and squeeze it together three times. They know the story of our grandsons and the three-hand squeezes. They raise their hand and squeeze it three times back to me. Many have also told me they now do the three-hand squeezes with their family.
Our services are also on YouTube and Facebook. I am always amazed at the number of people from all over America who find a way to contact me and tell me the story of our son’s expression, take it one day at a time and put it in God’s hands; it has helped them. The story of our grandsons and the three hand squeezes has also touched and made a difference in the lives of others.
As life goes on and my body starts to wear down, my hands still hold me up and lay me down. My old wrinkled hands continue to fold in prayer. When my time comes, my hands are what God will take to lead me home. I like to think my grandmother will be there to put my face in her hands and tell me she loves me.
Until then, my old wrinkled hands continue to help me get out to enjoy nature. My old wrinkled hands help me write stories encouraging others to get out in God’s great outdoors. They will continue to hold my wife’s hand and squeeze it three times. I will continue to shake the hands of as many people as possible to welcome them to church until I am no longer there to do that. I hold the hands of some as I tell them about Jesus.
I hope our grandsons pass the tradition of three-hand squeezes on to their kids and grandkids. Hopefully, our sons and our other grandkids will one day have good memories of what their parents and grandparents did with their hands. I pray they will all continue to pass it on to future generations of our family.
Whatever challenges come your way, remember to Take it one day at a time and put it in God’s hands. May you also discover there is such power in your hands.
