Eastland eBulletin 10.22.06

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Grandpa’s Hands
By Reggie Robarts

How many grandpas do we have in this congregation? Quite a few, I think, some of whom are quite young to wear that title. We also have some great-grandpas too and at least one of them is quite young for such an “old sounding” title. I refer to grandpa as a title because the one who wears it should feel a deep sense of responsibility to those precious grandchildren. The years of experience in a difficult and sometimes painful world should be invaluable to those children of your children. Grandpas have come to that point in life where they should have the time to patiently impart their accumulated wisdom to their grandchildren. Gray hair shouldn’t be covered up with Grecian Formula because it needs to be seen as a badge of respect by the younger generation. Listen to the tender story of an adult grandchild and an aged grandfather. If that isn’t the way it is in your relationship with your grandpa (or grandma), it should be.

Grandpa, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn’t move, just sat there with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn’t acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat, I wondered if he was OK. Finally, not really wanting to disturb him, but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he were all right. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he said in a clear strong voice.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

“Have you ever looked at your hands,” he asked, “I mean really looked at your hands?” I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and palms down. No, I guess I had never looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and related this story.

“Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well through the years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak, have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when, as I was a toddler, I crashed to the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world I was married and loved someone special. They wrote letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and when I walked my daughter down the aisle. Yet they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off my best friend’s foot. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook as fists in anger when I didn’t understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I’ve been and the ruggedness of my life. But most importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when He leads me home. And then with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ.”

 I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandpa’s hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and wife I think of Grandpa. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

A special note to young people: Love and appreciate your grandparents. Value their experience and wisdom, it can be of great benefit to you in your life. I could not find a poem that I read years ago that was addressed to mothers with small babies that I would like to have related here. The thought of the poem was that babies take precedence over a lot of things that can be taken care of latter. It admonished mothers to put off getting the cobwebs out of the corners of the ceiling, the dust bunnies from under the bed and other such mundane things and concentrate rocking and loving your baby. The message of the poem was all those other things can be done later, “but babies don’t keep.” We know how quickly they grow up and are gone and those precious moments are lost. The same thing is true of grandparents: “Grandparents don’t keep.” Too quickly they are gone and the season of loving and learning from them is over. So don’t wait, seize the moment!

(Note: Below is the poem Reggie cited in his article. It is of unknown origin.)
 
Babies Don’t Keep

Cleaning and Scrubbing
Can wait 'til tomorrow,
For babies grow up,
We've learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cob webs,
Dust go to sleep;
I'm rocking my baby,
And babies don't keep.

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Area Meetings
•    October 22-27 — Oak Grove
•    November 5-10 — Expressway
•    November 10-12 — High School Road (Indianapolis) — Weekend workshop on improving congregational singing.
•    March 8-11 — Our spring meeting will be with Ralph Walker. Mark your calendars now. It will be a Thursday-Sunday format.

Potpourri
•    Remember the kid’s bulletin in the foyer.
•    Today’s speaker is Cloyce Sutton.
•    Copies of the sermon notes for today’s lessons are available in the foyer in the literature rack.
•    John Norris wants an additional volunteer to work the Audio/Video equipment beginning in 2007. If you are interested in helping John Norris, Jon Price, and Bob Blain, contact John Norris at 267-9310.
•    From the “Better Late Than Never” department. I have had two new phone numbers on my desk for a month. Please note: Carol Stough’s number is 403-1634. Martha Pucket’s number is 403-1771. My apologies to these women for not publishing this sooner.

Monthly Duties
•    Transportation: Broderson, McPherson
•    Lord’s Supper: P Reece, T Reece
•    Meals: B Crowder, B Barnett
•    Deacon: J Mindel
•    Usher: S Riggle
•    Sound: J Price

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