What is Prettier than Freckles?

An elderly woman and her little grandson, whose face was sprinkled with bright freckles, spent the day at the zoo. Lots of children were waiting in line to get their cheeks painted by a local artist who was decorating them with tiger paws.

"You've got so many freckles, there's no place to paint!" a girl in the line said to the little fellow. Embarrassed, the little boy dropped his head. His grandmother knelt down next to him. "I love your freckles. When I was a little girl, I always wanted freckles," she said, while tracing her finger across the child's cheek. "Freckles are beautiful."

The boy looked up, "Really?"

"Of course," said the grandmother. "Why just name me one thing that's prettier than freckles?"

The little boy thought for a moment, peered intensely into his grandma's face, and softly whispered, "Wrinkles." --Unknown

That is so precious – brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of a moving poem from a blog I read recently. There are several blogs I visit nearly every day. One that continually inspires me is done by a lovely young photographer named Sandrine. She wrote a poignant poem about her grandmother coupled with her exquisite photos that deeply touched my heart. I gaze at her grandmother’s hands holding a photo of her family and thought of all the elements of a woman’s life. Really, really amazing how God made woman and all she does. (Man too – I’m just focusing on women right now) I think about my own grandmothers, my mom and mother in love. Blissful treasured memories swirl through my mind and I find myself longing to express my recollections too.

Then this thought came to me. I bet there are a few other people that would love to express a line or two about their grandmothers. I wouldn’t want to add to Sandrine’s poem for it is intensely personal to her but what if we, together, wrote A Poem of Many Grandmothers inspired by Sandrine? Let's try it and see where God leads.

Her Hands

Hands that have tickled
Hands that have played

Hands that have fed
Hands that have healed

Hands that have served
Hands that have labored

Hands that have comforted
Hands that have suffered

Hands that have sacrificed
Hands that have received

Hands that have loved
Hands that are loved©

Her Hands Poem & Photographs by
SANDRINE
My 97 year old Grandma's aged hands...

A pearl to string: It takes a long time to grow to Grandmother. It seems like a lifetime to me. Love is patient, love is kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13.4a, 13.7-8a)

Add your own memory line with name, city, state, and country in the comment section at the end of this column. As they come in I’ll put them all together under the title:

A Poem of Many Grandmothers.

A love that has pried
A love that has prayed (Lyndi -Denver CO USA)