Family Tree - author unknown

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

Family Tree - author unknown

In the center of life’s garden,

a mother gently sows

a special seed, a seed of love,

that sprouts, then grows and grows.

From day to day, from year to year,

she nurtures it with care.

Yet understanding of its needs, she gives it room for air.

Through winter and through summer,

through sun and rain filled hours,

the seedling reaches upward, it branches and it flowers.

In the center of life’s garden,

grows a thing of majesty.

Rooted well with Mother’s love,

a blessed family tree.

Grandma's Hands - author unknown

Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, 

how they have served you well throughout your 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 a toddler I crashed upon 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 husband and wiped my tears when he 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  that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook  when I buried my parents and spouse. They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors,  and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair,  and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.  They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw.  And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well  these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life. But more importantly it will be these hands  that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.  And 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 grandma's hands and led her home. When my hands are hurt or sore  or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Grandma.  I know she 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.