The other day I felt my granddaughter tracing her finger along the raised blood vessels on my hand. As I watched her, I thought, I have grandma hands.
I like that.
You see, you can’t be a grandma until you’ve actually raised a child to adulthood.
You learn a lot on that journey.
And then . . . all the love you've freely given . . . comes back . . . as your grandchild tenderly slips her tiny hand in yours.
1 comment:
I love this post. I have become grandmother to three sweet adopted children and have fallen in love with them and being their Gaga. I'm hard on myself for looking old and not being as agile as I used to be, especially my wrinkled skin. Every time I notice my hands in comparison to their soft smooth skin I wince a little at how old I look. This post made me realize that they don't notice those things and they are just glad I take the time to play with and love on them. Thank you for making me realize the importance and blessing of being old.
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