Prayer Request
Birthdays/Anniversary
June 26 – Russell and Bev Iery
Fields of Blessings on Father’s Day
On Father’s Day we take the time
To turn our thoughts to dad
Thank him for the home he gave
For all the things we had.
We think about the fleeting years
Too quickly, gone for good
It seems like only yesterday
I’d go back if I could.
A time when dad was always there
No matter what the weather
Always strong when things went wrong
He held our lives together.
He strived so hard from day to day
And never once complained
With steady hands, he worked the land
And kept the family name.
He taught us that hard work pays off
You reap just what you sow
He said that if you tend your crops
Your field will overflow.
My harvest has been bountiful
He taught me how to give
In his firm and steadfast way
He taught me how to live.
Dad dwells among the angels now
He left us much too soon
He glides across a golden field
Above the harvest moon.
I see him in the fields of grain
He rides upon the wind
And when my path is beaten down
He picks me up again.
A Father’s Hands
My Dad, some ninety plus years now, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn’t move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. I sat down beside him. He didn’t acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was okay.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was okay. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled.
Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking, he said in a clear strong voice. I didn’t mean to disturb you, Dad, but you were just sitting there staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were alright.
“Have you ever looked at your hands?” he asked. “I mean really looked at your hands?”
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making.
Dad smiled and related this story: “Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.”
“They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They wiped my tears when my son went off to war.”
“They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold you as a newborn daughter. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special.”
“They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn’t understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, washed and cleansed the rest of my body.”
They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else on me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I’ve been and the ruggedness of my life.”
“But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when He leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ.” —-
After that day, I will never look at my hands the same again.
But I remember God reached out and took my Dad’s hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt of sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of Dad. I know he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.
