Grandma's Hands

Bill Withers, in a sweet and memorable song, recalls the beauty and care of his grandmother through the simple image of “Grandma’s Hands.”

Grandma’s hands

Clapped in church on Sunday morning

Grandma’s hands

Played a tambourine so well

Grandma’s hands

Used to issue out a warning

She’d say, “Billy, don’t you run so fast.

Might fall on a piece of glass.

Might be snakes there in that grass.”

Grandma’s hands…

He recalls the impact his grandmother had on his life, and he does so through the picture of her hands—hands that worshiped, hands that served, hands that warned, hands that protected, and hands that cared for him. In my recent study, I have noticed a similar pattern in the Father’s encounters with us. There is a thread—a theme—that keeps appearing: the hands of the Father. Take the word picture of the potter and the clay:

“And yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand.” —Isaiah 64:8

It is the Father’s hands that are molding us. His hands apply the firmness and pressure needed to keep us in the “center” of His purpose, rather than allowing us to move toward extremes or at speeds that would not be possible—or conducive—to forming something of lasting worth.

His hands provide the pressure. His hands provide the shaping. His hands are personally involved in the process. The value of the pottery is expressed through the personal touch of the Master.

Not only is the safest place to be under His hands; it is also the most productive place to be. Then, once again, this word picture appears in the teaching of Jesus:

“I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.”

—John 15:1–2

The branch is pruned by the hands of the Gardener—our Father—because He sees what it can become. Here again, we encounter the personal, hands-on work of the Father. His hands trim away what is no longer beneficial or fruitful. Jenny and I lived for more than ten years in Sonoma County, surrounded by wineries and vineyards, and we saw this process repeated over and over again. The pruning of the vines is a personal process. Each year, workers would walk down the rows and, by hand, carefully trim away dead, old, or unnecessary branches, making room for new growth. At times, the pruning seemed extreme—even drastic. But pruning gives renewed energy to new growth. It allows the vine to produce greater fruitfulness and allows more sunlight to reach the plant, reducing the potential for fungal growth, mold, and disease.

I think often the enemy of our soul tries to deceive us into believing that being shaped, pressed, trimmed, or cut back somehow means we have no value. We can even interpret the Father’s pruning as punishment. But it is the opposite.

You are not losing value.

You are being shaped.

You are not being discarded.

You are being prepared.

You are not being punished.

You are being pruned so that you can bear greater fruit.

You are being shaped into a vessel of honor by the very personal touch of the Father’s hands.