God Bless You

Chet introduced me to an old woman who after service always stood near the pastor at the back door, shaking hands with everyone who stopped. But it wasn’t just a quick departing hand shake or a ‘thankyou for coming’ hand shake. She paused with that stranger’s hand in hers, held the palm inside her own for a quick extra second, and looked straight into that person’s eyes, without saying a word.

“Do you know what she was doing?” Chet asked me on the ride home.

“No.”

She was blessing each and every person whose hand she held. She’s been doing it for years.”

I don’t remember her name.

I don’t remember her face.

But I still remember after all these years, the feel of her crinkly knuckles against my smooth palm.

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