As a child, I hardly noticed it: how hard he worked and the gradual toll it was taking on his health. For the longest time, I thought men were born with hands as worn and callused as his. I loved his hands, though rough and dry, and as I grew, I began to examine them more closely.
“Daddy, where’d you get these scratches from?” I’d ask, holding his tired hands in mine while sitting in his lap. “Oh, I got those from a box cutter. I’ve been crawling through an attic all day installing air ducts.” It seemed like every day his hands could tell a completely different story. “Daddy, why is your thumb nail blue? Did you paint it?” I’d ask, smiling. “No, sweetie,” he’d reply with a grin, “That’s not paint. I smashed it at work today and it bruised. It’ll only be like that for a little while.”
I loved hearing my daddy’s work stories and asking him questions about his scars and scrapes and bruises. He was the epitome of Superman, and at times, I thought he was invincible. To this day, I continue to ask him questions about his hands, arms, and legs, yet I no longer find the same amusement in his responses.
“Daddy, why are you limping tonight?” I ask, for it is becoming a common occurrence. “My knees just start giving out around this time. They’ll be better in the morning.” “Dad, why are you dragging your arm like that?” I question. I’ve noticed he’s been favoring it lately. “Oh, don’t worry about it. The doctor thinks I’ve torn my rotator cuff. I might need surgery, but it’ll be back to normal in no time.” This is the most recent response I’ve received, and my stomach churns because of it.
My dad has worked the same job for my entire life. He’s worked days, nights, and many weekends for as long as I can remember. Why? Because he wants nothing more than to provide anything his family needs or desires. My dad works circles around his coworkers. People from cities and states across the nation wait days for service because they would rather have my dad’s hands working on their houses than anyone else’s. My dad is known, not only for his hard work and dedication, but for his honesty and loyalty to his customers. My dad loves his family more than anything else in the world, even when we fail to appreciate him for everything he does for our well-being.
Tears fill my eyes as I write these things about my daddy. He is one of my strongest role models, and I don’t do enough to show him how much he means to me. However, this alone is not the sole reason for my remorse. My heart is even more contrite by the lack of appreciation shown for my other dad: my Heavenly Father.
Like my dad, my Heavenly Father has worked the same job for my entire life. He’s been there by day, night, and every single weekend. Why? Because He wants nothing more than to provide for the needs and desires of His children. My Father works circles around all others. People from many cities, states, and countries around the world call upon Him daily because they desire my Father’s hands to work and move in their hearts and households. My Father is known, not only for His love, diligence, and dedication, but for His honesty and loyalty to those who rely on Him. My Father loves me more than anything else in the world, even when I fail to appreciate Him for everything He does for my well-being.
I can’t even imagine what our Father’s hands must look like. I wonder if they’re as worn and coarse as my daddy’s. Unlike my dad’s, His work never ceases. He is constantly building and creating and working for our good. He takes no breaks. He receives no vacations. Yet, I’m sure that His hands remain as strong as the love He has for us. Wouldn’t you think?
This Father’s Day, I encourage you to talk to your dad. I’m not talking about a simple “thank you” or “I love you.” Tell him how much he truly means to you. Take a long, hard look at his hands and recognize how much he might be sacrificing for you. But don’t stop there. Take even more time to talk to your Heavenly Father, and continue to do so as long as His breath is in your lungs.
Happy Father’s Day!
Written by Haley
Image credits: Haley Briggs