My Father's hands...

One of my first hazy memories is of my Daddy holding my little brother and me,

one of us in each of his hands.

As a little girl, I was convinced that Daddy was the handsomest and strongest man in the world.

When I was a bit older, Daddy got sick with ulcers and was in bed and on a special diet for a while.

My illusions of him being strong and invincible were challenged.

When I was nine, and Daddy left Mama and us kids for another woman and her kids, 

all of my faith and trust in him was shattered.

Through the years and decades, how often have I longed for someone strong enough to hold me up in his hands?

The little girl in me never stopped longing for a father she could count on.

As a young mama, I remember being in the kitchen, mopping the floor.

It was the Saturday before Father's Day.

The longings for a father I could count on bubbled up from my heart,

and spilled out in tears from my eyes.

Then I heard His voice speak to my heart,

the voice of the Father who always was, always has been, always will be,

faithful, true and strong.

He reminded me of how He had always been there when my Daddy wasn't,

and He reminded me that He always will be.

There's nothing like knowing you're in good hands,

loving hands, strong hands, that have always been there for you and always will be.

still following,

Also happily linking up with the lovely Lisha Epperson 

and Cheryl McCain Photography.