My Father's Hands

On the last night my dad was on this Earth I was honored to sit up with him. He was restless and kept wanting to hold my hand or my arm. We ended up spending a good part of the night like this.

I thought a lot about those hands as we were sitting there. These are the hands that held me when I was born. These hands protected me when I was little, held my hand as we crossed the street, held the back of my bicycle when I learned how to ride. These are the hands that taught me how to fish, handed me keys when I learned how to drive and hugged me when my heart was hurt.

These hands carried me in the hospital when I broke bones, built toys for us and occasionally provided correction when I was wrong.

These hands worked hard for all of my life to provide for his family. They served his country, held my mom's hands when they said their vows, and held the Bible as he honored God.

Yesterday Dad started holding different hands as he left this world. My heart breaks knowing I won't feel that squeeze on mine. But I rejoice knowing his suffering is over. Now I will rely on other hands and I pray my hands continue the works Dad's did. Thank you Ken Barker for being the kind of man you were. I love you.