I think of his hands first;
Those hands that held me
so securely when I was little.
Those hands that caught me
when he tossed me high,
or held me as he spun me
'round in a crazy swirling circle.
"Do it again Daddy!" I would cry.
I used to think he could
do anything with his hands,
they were so big and strong.
Comforting when gripped in the
madness of a store, when
all I could see were legs.
My tears swell and choke
when I see those hands now,
still bigger than mine, but
no longer strong enough to
keep away the fears.
They shake; inexplicably turning
into something unknown before my eyes.
I know, though, Whose hands still
hold me, and my Daddy;
Whose hands can do anything,
and will always keep us safe.
Into Those hands I put my own small ones,
And ask Him to hold my Daddy's hands, too.
