My dad’s hand.
Earlier that same day after a crazy-fun wakeboarding trip, he held his hand out to me as I stepped off the rocking boat onto the dock. Safety. Protection. Caring.
Worn yet strong from years of labor, these hands. Fixing cars, restoring old ones (and driving them!), the maintenance of a home inside and out. (…and the home of a daughter who knows next-to-nothing about fixing things!)
These hands. Throwing the ball for our little Micah-dog; gripping the rope handle while wakeboarding behind the boat (this oh-so-cool, 50-something dad); mowing my yard to surprise me; texting me to wish me a good day; handing me the local newspaper you saved just because you know I like it; your fingers tiptoeing across my hair from behind to get a reaction from this spider-fearing girl.
These hands that taught me how to drive stick shift, how to drive a boat and a motorcycle (you brave passenger!), how to swing a bat and wash a car and check my oil and make straw-colate shakes and work hard and hold-on-for-dear-life on a roller coaster.
The hands that set up the camper for family vacations as well as drew routes on the atlas for my own road trips. That turn up the radio when a meaningful Christian music song comes on (or a Christian rock one!). That shoot hoops with college-age kids and still give them a run for their money.
These same hands that fold in prayer, slide along a rosary, hold mom’s hand, hug your kids, and make your grandson giggle.
These strong yet tender, protective, capable hands remind me of someone else’s….
The mighty and loving Hands of God.
Thank you for being a reflection of my Heavenly Father.
And thank you for being an amazing earthly dad.
Happy Father’s Day. I love you.