His Hands: Father's Day Tribute

As a tribute to fathers for Father's day, a soloists sang "His Hands," at church this morning. It spoke of our fathers and grandfathers and all that they undertake and overcome out of their love. Their tireless service and love is made evident as those in heaven, "take a look at his hard-working hands."

Hands do tell a story. That's why I've always loved them, studied them, held them, and drawn them. Here's more about four of my favorite pairs of hands.

My Grandpa, Harland C, used to lift me onto his lap and clasp me with his fleshy, ruddy hands. We'd sit in his brown plaid rocker and watch silent golf or listen to our Peter and the Wolf record. I'd look down and squish the pads on his fingers and well-muscled palms, take in the crackled skin and pulsing veins, and ask if the purple marks hurt. Those same hands were used to build a hospital in Irian Jaya, build (and rebuild when lightning struck it)his family's mountain top dream home, and construct facilities for Young Life ministries. He gave his life, his time, his gifts away through those hard-working hands.

My Daddy, James Kenneth, has hands which tell our story as well. I remember being intrigued by the veins on his hands, and how they would refill as soon as I indented them. With those hands, he lifted us high in the air to fly like super heroes around the house in bath towels. And we would line up for him to launch us into the air in the swimming pool. He hugged us, built kites with us, and taught us to work with those hands. Despite my lack of aptitude for it, he purposed to teach me what he felt to be the basics of car maintenance, and didn't scold but snickered when after several lessons, I proceeded to get under the back end of the car and look around, wondering where to change the oil. He would take time out of his work day to visit widows in our community, and help them through their honey-do lists: fixing screen doors, hanging pictures, doing little things to make life easier for them. The only form of payment he seemed comfortable accepting was a piece of pie or a muffin and his rave reviews for the goodies. One of my kids favorite memories is being lassoed on the beach by Grandpa, weilding his lasso of seaweed rope, and creating drip sandcastles near the surf of the California beach near their home.

My father-in-law, James Leonard, in his mid-70's, is still building ramps for the home-bound with the local Men of Mission, plowing a sizeable garden, and rebuilding the dam in the creek with his grandkids, despite the arthritis which stiffens his fingers and wrists. His hands are always open and welcoming, and his lap ready for someone to climb into. He has trophies to show from his mighty hunting days, and still can lead a successful hunting party on the hills surrounding their Virginian home. He has worked as an engineer at facilities across America and even in Bermuda, yet has maintained his unassuming ways, wit, and down-to-earth nature. When hurricane Katrina struck our region, he led a team of builders in providing what our local residents needed most.

My husband, William Otis, has the best hands of all to hold. With those hands, he can tie and untie knots while fishing with the kids, paddle across the salt marsh landscape in his kayak, carefully landscape our yard, and continue daddy's tradition of hoisting the kids into the air to be super heroes or to fly like angels. He can hold and reassure me when I am a tumult of emotion, and say "I'm here for you" with every transferred and folded load of laundry. At the close of each worship service he extends his hands over our congregation, asking God to bless us and remind us that we are never alone; that the Holy Spirit goes with us. While in India, he laid his hands upon the children gathered around him for prayer, even after they kept getting back in line for more. He talks with his hands, preaches with his hands, types sermon notes, letters of exhortation, and our charter school application with his hands.

I feel exceedingly blessed to have the influence and love of each of these men in my life and in the lives of my children. I know that one of them has already gone on to hear the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful with a few things. Now, come and share in your Master's happiness" and that the others will one day hear the same.