When I was a small girl I often sat in my Grandmas lounge room while Mum and Gran chatted and giggled about all the things that have been happening. My Gran was a very colourful lady, in expression and manner.Mostly I could not take my eyes off her hands which darted here and there. She was very expressive with her hands, I loved watching them as they danced in the air in tune to the words she spoke. Words filled with love and life, grace and compassion.
Old and wrinkly, gnarly and knobbley, like a well worn wooden door to the front of an old house.Opening to welcome family and friends , shutting to keep out the unwanted strangers. Fingers nimble and crafted, from knitting grandbabies booties,making toffees for the local fete smacking naughty little bottoms and hugging with tender care.Yes I loved my Grans hands.
She was a very gifted lady who played piano and made most of her childrens clothes, milked cows and dug in the vegie garden. Old and wrinkled, gnarly and worn, tender and caring, beautiful hands.My prayer as I sat and looked at her hands, was that one day I too could have hands so gifted and crafted, usefull and kind. Welcoming and assuring as my Grandmas beautiful hands