The news reached me this afternoon. A treasured loved one met Jesus today – face to face. In that meeting, there was great delight.
My heart is sore because I will miss those precious hands.
Those hands would often sit open at the table. Waiting for other hands to fill them as we sang grace for the meal. Waiting for the meal to begin.
Those hands were praying hands. Conversation with the Father was the lifeblood, as essential as oxygen. Countless numbers of people were lifted to the Father’s throne because of the prayers of these hands.
Those hands would often be filled with the Book. The Bible was the most precious resource that graced them. Carefully pages would be turned as the reminders of the Word of God would be shared and reflected on. These hands were always open to what God had, what He desired, where He would lead.
In those hands would be other books too. There was a voracious desire to learn. To discover. To find out. To read. Many times a new book would be recommended or shared from. Fiction to nonfiction, it didn’t matter. Something new could always be gleaned from the pages.
Those hands were working hands. Playhouses were built. Furniture for both was produced. One was firmly fixed on the ground. The other built high in a tree. Both were created with the utmost love and understanding. They were finished with great love and care. End boards were built for the backyard hockey rink. Countless repairs and renovations were made to a number of homes. Each one, a labour of love.
Those hands loved tools. If something needed to be fixed, these hands would find their way to the correct tool for the job. The task would be done well, done right, done with great love. The fingertips were often cracked and sore, but the hands ensured that the job was completed, and done well.
Those hands were meticulous. No detail was overlooked. Every page was filed exactly right. Each pencil and pen in their proper place. If attention to specifics was required, these hands were the ones that were required for the job. Many stones were overturned as these hands sought to put every jot on exactly the correct line.
Those hands produced beautiful text. The notes that came from the pens held in these hands were works of art delivering much blessing into the lives of the recipients.
Those hands showed great love. Love for family and friends. They opened the door to a home with a beaming smile, a loving welcome and always a hug. And it was a hug that communicated deep and abiding affection. From the littlest to the eldest, these hands welcomed you in.
These hands have always held the hand of Jesus. But now they physically walk together, hand in hand, face to face. Heaven is the richer for it. I, however, will always miss those hands.