Hands

From my Parish bulletin this week...

Happy Fathers Day to all the men of our parish who bless us with the gift of a father's love.
I recently received an e-mail from Dan Monnin, who moved from our parish to Ohio about a year ago. It contained a reflection written by Dan's cousin Doug about his grandfather. With Dan and Doug's permission, I share it with you. I find it especially appropriate on this day when we reflect on the gift of a father's love.

"Grandpa Urb, some ninety three years old, sat quietly on the hospital bed. He
didn't move, just sat staring down at his bands. I said hello and asked him bow
be was doing. He raised his head, looked at me, and smiled that 'grandpa smile'
I knew so well for forty something years. "Doing OK," he said. "I didn't want to
disturb you, grandpa, but you were just sitting there staring at your hands and
I wanted to make sure you were OK, " I explained to him. "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 then palms
down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands, as I tried to figure
out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and related this story as only he
can: "Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served
you throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, hardened, and weak have
been the tools I have used all my life to reach out to grab and embrace life."
"They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I fell to the floor. As a
child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled
on my boots. As a young man they threw the crossfire pitch past many batters
right into Paul's glove. They grasped udders, operated tools, distributed feed,
and turned steering wheels on the farm. They held Elfrieda and wiped her tears
when she agreed to marry me. They packaged materials all those years at Superior
Aluminum. They signaled "2" for curve ball when I stood behind the screen
watching you on the mound, thinking about throwing a fastball on that 3-1 count
to the cleanup batter." "They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and
bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I held your dad, my first newborn son.
Decorated with my wedding band, they show the world that I am married and have
loved the most special person in the world, your grandmother, for over 70 years.
They trembled and shook when I buried my parents. They have held my children,
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and greeted friends.
" "They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed my body. They have been
sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much if
anything else if me works real well, I still use these hands to greet visitors
and continue to fold them in prayer. "

"These hands are the mark of where I've been. 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 if Christ. "

God will soon reach out and take my grandpa's hands and lead him home.

But I know I will never look at my hands the same again. When my hands are hurt or sore, or when I stroke the face if my children, I will think if grandpa. I know by then be will have been held by the hands if God.

I, too, want to touch the face if God someday and feel His hands upon my face.

Thank you Grandpa for your examples, your stories, your caring, and for everything you've meant to me. I'll always love you Grandpa."

Thanks to all the fathers whose hands have reached out and brought love and care to our community. Happy Father's Day.