the language of his hands

So Poppa Cooksey (my dad) has departed our “raj mahal” here in north India.
He is currently in Delhi, worshiping with Raja, and these faces before he returns home to the US

These faces belong to some of my favorite people in all the world

So Poppa Cooksey has left, but his love was powerful in the time he was here
See, my dad, can be a man of few words at time
But his heart
It is real and he loves to love
And he loves to give

His broad, wrinkled hands are marked with the time he has been on earth
Time spent learning, breaking, being restored, loving, giving, and raising
His loves and hands speak in that language our Yshua called us to

What were those words?
Ah, yes
“do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing”

That is what my Savior pleaded
The One who was Holy yet became flesh, to dwell among you and me
For he knows the hearts of us, mankind
We like glory
We like fame
We like for all the world to see each move of our every finger
But He was the Word, and the Word
“is living and active, SHARPer than any double edged sword.”
And the Word
“pierces the heart”
And the Word
“divides bone from marrow”
And the Word
shows the intentions of the heart
So when “the WORD became flesh and dwelt among us”
He spoke that which others could not speak
And He exposed the inner chambers of our heart and mind
And He rebuked us for seeking our own praise

Because His Name is the only praiseworthy Name

So when He says
“do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing”
He gave me my father to flesh that out
For me to see
For though much of what my poppa does is unseen,
It makes ripples thru generations
And he does not even realize it
He keeps on keepin on

He works faithfully
As he keeps on going, faithfully, with his 2 loyal brothers
To that office, downtown, and they serve their customers faithfully
As their father, my grandfather, did for many years before

He husbands and fathers faithfully
As he keeps coming home, thru that door to that faithful wife
And they keep raising and rearing and loving those 5 children she birthed and they loved

And when their daughter says she wants to go to India, at only 17 years of age
That momma, she clings to her Father, above, for strength
And her eyes wince in pain

That poppa, he pushes that daughter forward

He says it is because “you have your momma’s heart of faith and your poppa’s spirit of adventure and needing the minimum”
But momma, she hurts and she misses
Yet she loves on
Because, remember, she stores up treasures in Heaven
And poppa, he applauds but he misses
Yet he too, loves on

But India, it is far away
And tickets to far away places…
They do not come cheaply
They take a pretty penny
And they have 4 other children to raise and love and provide for
And they have a handsome son, engaged to a beautiful lady, awaiting marriage in the summertime
And money, it does not grow on trees, you know
So they wonder, how will they see that babygirl of theirs?

But they save each penny, and momma, she and her courageous sidekick sister;), Gerri, they fly far away
And they drive thru the night after 36 hours of travel
And they fold laundry
Rock babies
Encourage a nervous momma
Explore cities and give of themselves for days on end

And poppa, he stays home and ‘holds the fort down’
And he tells momma, “dont get me a souvenir, I will pick out my own when I come”
But he tells daughter, it will be a long time coming, for him to join me in India
But he will save that money
And he will come
And he will hold babies
And he will climb mountains

So a few months pass
And daughter gets a phone call
Rotary is doing a campaign
In their attempt to end that nasty disease called Polio
And my dad, who has been going to those Monday lunches as long as I can remember
With his Rotary buds
He gets a spot on the trip

Because, our Abba, He is a Good Father
And He is a Provider
And He loves to give good gifts to His children

So my dad, he comes to India
He doesn’t blog about it and parade photos and words for the world to know
He does it quietly and excitedly and faithfully

He meets grandson number 2 for the first time
At 5 months age
And it reminds me of when he met grandson number 1

  And we go and pick him up
And he holds wiggly babies in shockless cars on winding roads
And he makes us laugh like no one else
And he makes Hadassah feel like a queen

And he encourages Raja in his fatherhood
And he makes Elliot chuckle

Left hand not telling right

And when Adam resists his love for the first week
(Forgetting the hours his grandfather, poppa, spent rocking him to sleep months before)
My dad, he pushes thru
With love, faithful
And he keeps holding, as Adam pushes away
And his faithful love, like our Abba’s
It wins
And Adam breaks

Adam caves
Caves into love
He collapses on the lap of a man who receives his resistance again and again and will not be calloused

Right hand not telling left

And it is such a picture of that Divine Love
That died on that Tree called Calvary

And his hands, they keep serving and they keep doing
They fold clothes

They change (a) diaper;)
They push babies in strollers down village roads that have never seen a stroller before
And he does it with his safari hat flopping
And his neon Nike shoes
Blingin

And they stare
And it makes me cower
But it just makes him laugh
And he pushes on
And we walk on

And those hands, they teach a baby how to eat like a Cooksey man;)

                  

disclaimer: Elliot did not actually eat this piece of cake;) But poppa is making him ready…;)

Left hand not telling right hand

And we visit new dear friends who have a home for boys
And a farm too
And dad, he goes out there with those boys and men
And he takes a plow in hand
And breaks a sweat
And breaks bread with them at night
And tutors them in chemistry

Right hand not telling left hand

And I am reminded of a little over 1.5 years back
When Adam’s adoption was in process
And he still had no eyelids
And his future was so uncertain
And we did not yet know that a doctor
Who walked by faith
Was going to open his heart and mind to our boy
And that there was incredible hope

We just knew that this baby, He was created by hands, Holy
And those Holy Hands were giving us our first son
And that adoption was our story
And it is the story of each child of God
And it was Adam’s story too

But there were forms to fill
And official meetings and court orders and signatures needed
And then we came upon this one question
Asking, if something should happen to me or Raja
“Who will take responsibility of your adopted child if something should happen to both mother and father”?

And we look at eachother
And we question
And we wonder if this question will stop the whole process
Would someone else be willing to step into this faith journey with us?
We did not know

So I pick up that phone
I call that momma, loving and that father, faithful
And momma she listens

Because she likes talking on that phone
But father, he prefers phone not

And she passes on the message to her husband

And before she finishes the question

My father, faithful, interjects
And says
“of course”
Of course he will take Adam as his own grandson, and if needed,
Adam would be their own son
And that question should not stop us
And he and my momma, they would raise him if needed

He says this,
without his left hand telling his right hand
And surely he did not blog about it
My mom and dad, they just say ‘yes’ in their quiet way

And we keep on keepin on
And you all hear about our journey, Jessica and Raja and “baby Adam” and Hadassah and Elliot
And you join us in our journey
On blog posts, facebook posts, newspaper articles, news stations, and the like
And you share our story
Because you love us

And my father and mother, they share our story too
And they gives sacrificially to all the funds being raised
And they hopes for their grandson and their daughter and her family

And he holds that boy each time we come home from surgeries

But his left hand keeps quiet
And his right hand knows not
And he definitely blogs not…
So surely you do not all of these things

And all the while, you did not know
That in order for Adam to be our son
Someone else had to say yes too
He had to be someone else’s son too
If times changed
And me and Raja were not

If my father and mother had not said yes
Adam would not be ours
Nor yours

So today, I thank my Abba for my father;)
And we praise Him for the weeks we had together

And we remember, on this Sabbath
To let our left hand speak not
For it is His Name
That deserves all glory, honor, and praise

For that prophet of old, Isaiah, scribed and reminds us
“And all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf”
 But His Name
It remains
Forever and ever
Amen