You Only Write Once Scholarship Slam
These hands carried my wife through the threshold on our wedding night and comforted my daughter whenever she had a bad dream.
These hands worked for many years to support my family and would become dirty, tired, overused and bent. They would mow the lawn and change the oil in the car, do all the handy work around the house.
My hands put on a tuxedo, held my daughter's arm as I walked her down the aisle and presented her to her husband at the alter, only to let her go and start a life of her own as I wiped the tears away from my eyes.
These hands drove the car to football games, ate greasy food on the weekends, and cheered for the winning team. My hands held my wife as we danced, stroked her soft cheeks, combed her beautiful hair and held her as tight as could be.
My hands have been dirty and bent, but have shown compassion and love. And so I look at my hands now to remember the years, and how these hands held me up and laid me down.
These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life. But more importantly, it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when I and lead home, and with my hands He will lift me to His side.