Happy Father's Day (4 days late)

I’m not sure when it happened, but things have changed. I used to look down at my opposable-thumb equipped appendages and see my hands. Now when I look down I see my Dad. Oh, they’re still mine, but they look like his. The chunky knuckles, stubby nails, and thumbs with only one joint are a dead ringer for my father’s.

To me, the resemblance in uncanny, in fact do a double-take every time I look at this picture.

My dad used his hands for all the usual things. They cooked meals, tossed balls, prepped sermons, gave pats, assisted neighbors, and did home projects. He taught me how to bend my fingers so they look natural when standing in choir—a technique I used quite a bit and still use today when I run. More recently I’ve seen his hands blogging and holding grandkids.

I hope that I inherit more than just the physical resemblance. I’d be honored to accomplish as much as his hands in the areas of encouragement, helpfulness, and charity. It’s when I find myself following his example of action that I am most proud of the similarity. I know that much of what I am is a direct result of his influence, both in how my hands look and what they do, and I am exceptionally thankful for that. Thanks Dad.