Daddy Hands

My whole life I have felt like only part of a man. My father was an art teacher who paints, draws, sculpts, and does pottery. Anything his hands touched would turn out to be gold. This man could take a piece of wood and chisel an animal out of thin air! A piece of clay on his pottery wheel was putty in his hands (excuse the poor pun). My dad put up his fence, redid his kitchen, and remodeled the living room all with his hands. Me not so much. It only got worse for me after I met my wife. Her father is a farmer. He fixes tractors, built a whole edition on his house, and hunts. He is a man's man. I can't even put together a wicker Christmas ornament for the front yard!! What good are my hands? What man things can I do with them? I can’t draw, paint, shoot a gun or fix anything. But today my life changed. I was following my daughter up the stairs. I held her hand in front of her to steady her as she started walking up the stairs. There was complete trust that she could pull on my hand and it would get her up the next step. Just then it dawned on me. I have Daddy Hands. Hands that are trusted to do the most important things in life. Hands that catch my children when I throw them way too high in the air. Hands that that are trusted to swing my 3 year old in a circle without him flying into the stratosphere. Hands that have held two innocent newborns that had only been in this world for seconds. I don’t need any other type of hands but Daddy Hands. Daddy Hands trump every other type of hands.