Hands of a Humble Man

Hello,

I began writing this story last fall. I finally finished it and wanted to get it out to you today.

My days are filling up with the book launch preparation. I have a question for you. Would you consider being a part of my launch team? This book has become so much more than I ever imagined. I'm so excited to share it with you. Just consider it for now. I'll have more details for you very soon.

Holly Dunn recorded a song in the '80s called Daddy's Hands. She wrote this song out of her love and respect for her dad and his sacrifices for their family. I tend to get a wee bit emotional when it plays on the radio, as I can see the similarities in our dads.

Holly and Dad are no longer with us in their earthly bodies. However, Holly's song and my dad's life rekindle memories of a loving, hard-working family man. Like Holly's dad, my dad showed firmness when he needed to correct my wrongful ways, but there was always softness in the form of a hug or watching him fold his hands to pray.

Dad bought us, kids, a Datsun B210, light blue in color, as the first car-the car we would learn how to drive and operate with a stick shift. This car was fun to drive but tended to break down due to the points closing.

How do I know this techy terminology, you might ask? This little car needed regular maintenance for us to keep it on the road. On weekends, you'd find Dad in the driveway with his head under the hood fixing something.

Dad was a handyman-a jack of all trades, one might say. He could tie knots that Houdini himself couldn't loosen. He was a trailer house winterizer, electrician, and weekend mechanic, just to name a few.

One of the things Dad taught me was how to set the points on that old Datsun car. I took it to Prescott, AZ, when I left for college, some four hours away from home. So, I needed to learn what to do if it broke down. Lord knows Dad's hands got bruised and dirtied up countless times working on it through the years. The least I could do was lighten his burden by being attentive to the persnickety workings of the car so he didn't have to.

On one trip home from college, the old Datsun puttered to a stop many miles away from home. Thankfully, I was near enough to an exit to pull over safely. I got out and lifted the hood to reset my points. Then, up behind me, rolled an off-duty police officer to offer his assistance. Like a fool, I expected he probably knew more about it than I did. I explained it was probably the points but wasn't sure. He took a look and figured it might be something more serious. So, I let him radio in to dispatch to get a hold of Dad.

About an hour later, Dad drove up to my pitiful scene. He inspected the points and spoke to me. They were not words of condemnation like you might suspect. However, I rightly figured he was frustrated as he had demonstrated to me how to resolve this issue quickly. He set the points with the officer and me watching on sheepishly. He reminded me how simple it was as he worked his magic. He wiped his hands on the rag that had been tucked into his back pocket, closed the hood, and said, "That should hold you for a while." He smiled that forgiving smile, probably thankful it wasn't a bigger issue and that I had the protection of a kind man to watch out for me while I waited on his arrival.

I remember when we kids came close to putting that Datsun in the boneyard. Once, my brother Brandt broke the door hinge backing out of his friend's driveway. Another time, he broke out the grill and headlights.

I gave this car more damage with my error of judgment and lack of patience. I attempted to go around a slow-driving farmer when he made a wide turn and hit the front fender of the car.

It finally breathed its last with my younger sister, Megan. She drove over a fire hydrant beside a friend's house one early winter morning coming home from a volleyball game.

It has been said that patience is a virtue. This was a virtue my dad had in spades. "Daddy's Hands" got me through some sticky situations growing up, but the one constant thing was the love exuded through them. He championed me with those hands by cheering me on, hugging me, disciplining me, praying for me-really just helping me to become the best version of myself.

Oh! And one more thing. Dad never had to set those points for me again.

My siblings and I agree our car was very similar to the picture of this one.

For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand

and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.

Isaiah 41:13 NIV