Daddy's Hands
His hands were wrinkled and scarred from a life of grueling toil,
From years spent working in a factory and tilling the loamy soil.
They were firm but gentle hands that disciplined me as a boy;
Hands that could fix anything, especially a broken toy.
Daddy's hands were always there to help neighbors in despair.
His gnarled hands were folded when chatting with God in prayer.
With devout hands he studied the Bible for his daily meditation,
And they held his Bible in Sunday School teaching religious education.
When from the path I strayed, his hands steered my direction.
With gentle hands he held mine when giving needed correction.
When life seemed to overwhelm me and I became discouraged,
His hands lay upon my shoulders to ensure that I was encouraged.
Affectionate hands held Mother's hands as they advanced in age,
To assure her of his love and all her anxieties to assuage.
He considered his grandchildren God's own precious treasure,
And cuddled them in his hands with a love beyond all measure.
His hands embraced four sons whom he loaned to serve the nation.
Respectful hands honored his nation's flag with great dedication.
During life's quest, with time-worn hands, so much he sacrificed,
But was rewarded when he reached out to touch the face of Christ!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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