Dad’s hands were king-size and strong.
With his hands, he built our home
And fixed all the broken things.
Dad’s hands gave generously, served humbly,
and loved mom tenderly, unselfishly, completely, unendingly.
With his hand, Dad held me when I was small,
steadied me when I stumbled,
and guided me in the right direction.
When I needed help, I could always count on Dad’s hands.
Sometimes Dad’s hands corrected me, disciplined me,
shielded me, rescued me.
Dad’s hands protected me.
Dad’s hand held mine when he walked me down the aisle.
His hand gave me to my forever love,
who, not surprisingly, is very much like Dad.
Dad’s hands were the instruments of his great big,
Dad’s hands were strength.
Dad’s hands were love.
With his hands he praised God.
And he prayed to the Father with those big hands.
Dad’s hands. They were like Jesus’ hands to me.
– – – written by Mary Fairchild