Sometimes you can get the measure of a person simply by looking at their hands. Hands tell a story if you take the time to look carefully.
These are the hands that opened wide to cradle a daughter born in a land far away giving her a new home and welcoming her into a new family.
These hands raised a daughter, bathing and dressing and feeding her and sending her off to school each day with a smile.
These are the hands that made a school lunch before going to work each day and prepared a family dinner every evening.
These hands clapped in support of every goal scored, tended to occasional bumps and bruises, and then patted a little bottom in encouragement.
These hands never stopped teaching lessons—in living and character—not just in Sunday School, but at home, in the car, on the soccer field, at the supermarket, wherever there was a lesson to be learned—and there were many. They never stopped teaching.
And these hands are teaching still, gently, lovingly cradling a granddaughter. Writing yet another chapter in their story.