“Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord.” ~Psalm 134:2
Ever really look closely at the hands raised around you? Each pair tells a story. Some are youthful, some large, some with age spots and wrinkles, some have manicured nails, others are weathered and some are stained with their life’s work. That’s how my daddy’s hands looked.
He was an auto mechanic, and he always had dark grease stains embedded in the lines of his fingers, no matter how much he scrubbed with that special cleaner.
I’d watch him at the sink, chatting with Mom and working on those hands. The residue never completely left. It was a silent witness to where his hands had been.
I loved his strong hands that carried me, carefully removing the gravel from my knee after a bike crash.
Those hands faithfully turned the pages of his Bible every. single. day. They wrapped Mom in love and changed the diapers of eight children.
They brought comfort and relief as a medic in World War II.
His hands were busy. He wrote beautifully expressive prose and poetry of faith in Jesus. He repaired nearly anything that broke, serviced cars for single ladies and widows. He crafted a unique padding for a wheelchair bound veteran, who could only move his head. The padding protected ribs from the pain of the jostling wheelchair. The veteran cried in relief.
The last time daddy’s hands were lifted, he was taking a prayer request in his class.
I looked at my own hands as I penned this. What blessings have come from them? What sacrifice given? What is their silent witness? What tenderness rendered?
We have a choice. We each have the privilege to be our FATHER’S hands.
Vickey Richey
~Christ Fellowship