‘Open hands’ . . . a picture of hope, a strategy for life
Martha and Howard Brammer were hosting a friend for dinner, a longtime friend whose spouse had just entered a residential home for Alzheimer’s patients. This was shortly after Martha had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, the same disease Howard had been living with for many years. (While it’s rare for both husband and wife to have Parkinson’s, Martha’s neurologist told her it isn’t unheard of.)
As the conversation progressed that evening, Martha shared an insight with her friend. “I’ve observed something about older people,” she said. (Interesting, because Martha and Howard are both north of 70 themselves.) “Older people tend to give their energy to holding on to the past; fear tightens their grip as they see so much slipping away from them. But I’ve always believed life is richer when you approach each new day with open hands.”
‘Life is richer when you approach each day with open hands.’
Howard and Martha Brammer
That statement alone is enough to help any reader carry on. But there’s more.
The Brammers’ friend took her observation to heart and remembered it with each visit to the Alzheimer’s home in the coming weeks. This was during the peak of Covid, and the friend was not allowed inside the facility. Visits were limited to greetings through closed winter windows.
“I stood outside on the lawn, in the cold, staring up at my spouse,” my friend told me later. “And I opened my hands and held them outstretched in front of me. I’m not sure what any observer might have thought, but I didn’t care. I stared through that frosted window and thanked God for all he had given me in my marriage—all the happy times, all the support and forgiveness, all we had accomplished because we were together. My hands were full of gratitude. And I tried to remember that God had more in store to fill them in the future.”
‘God had more in store
to fill my hands.’
This week I tried to arrange a lunch with my friend who wrote back to report a schedule too busy to add any more lunch dates for weeks. Meanwhile, Martha has stayed active reaching out to those around her, hosting a journal-writing group in her home at The Christian Village at Mason, and spending hours and hours making homemade greeting cards that have encouraged hundreds of hospital workers across Greater Cincinnati.
These two caregivers have decided that life isn’t over just because it has been upended. They’re setting an example for me as I try to discover what God may have for me even though I’ve lost my grip on so much I’ve savored.
Grief, frustration, boredom, disappointment—all these are a part of this difficult chapter. My life is different, for sure, but it’s not over. And I believe if I’ll open my hands in anticipation, God will place deeper insight, new opportunities, and “peace that passes understanding” inside my trembling palms.
Thanks, Martha, for sharing an outlook that can give anyone a strategy for finding the best in each new day.