My Daddy’s Hands
Proverbs 20:7

Amidst all of our responsibilities as wives and mothers, we still identify with the little girls inside of us all.  Although the house must be cleaned, the dinner must be made, and the children must be raised, the girl inside still remembers what it is like to want to run barefoot into the arms of a loving father.  I grieve for the women who have not had fond memories of a good earthly father.  It is for them that I pay my respects because it may be hard to imagine what it is like to feel safe.  For those of us who have known this kind of love, let us be grateful that God allowed a piece of Himself to be revealed in our earthly fathers. However, we all share the love and protection from our Heavenly Father who gave us His love and has validated our self-worth.     

My first husband at one time had commented that I had hands like my father.  He did not realize how profound those words were.  I looked down and sure enough I saw the hands of my father.  Besides our skin complexion, our nail shape and palm imprint were the same.  I remembered thinking how cool that was.

TO A FATHER WHO HAS SHOWN LOVE:

Dad, you helped give me my identity.  You were the first man in my life who showed me my value and worth. You loved my mother, raised me and my sisters, and provided security for us with just a word.  You stood for your beliefs, rose above your challenges; and loved without expectations. You saw the beauty in me before I did.  You waited patiently for my eyes to catch up to see what you have always seen.  You taught me to ride my bike, drive a car, and plan ahead. You taught me to do well when no one was looking, do well when no one expected me to, and do good when good was not happening to me.  You prayed me through my life experiences even when it meant that you could not say a word.  Because of you, I know what love is.      
  
I look down at my hands and I see the hands that resemble likeness and strength. You have honored your God-given position to use your hands to carry me as baby until my hands were strong enough to hold my own bottle.  Your hands led me down the wedding aisle and held me after my divorce.  Your hands clapped for success when I graduated from college and later raised those same hands to praise God for sparing my life from a car wreck and cancer.  Your hands were strong because they were always in God’ hands.  I can only pray that my hands continue to be a reflection of you and what God has done through you. 

FROM A DAUGHTER WHO HAS FELT LOVED,

Teresa Barnes, MSW, LCSW
Clinical Therapist