His Hands

I remember my fathers hands, they were rough and worn from all the hardwork he had performed throughout his life. His hands had served him well in providing for his family. And as beaten up as his hands were they could also offer up prayers of humility, he gave blessings to his family and others. One glance by a stranger might cause some to look at them in disgust because they were so unkempt. But as his daughter I only saw the beauty they possessed. My father’s hands were a work of art.

There is little that is more beautiful than a well read, well marked up set of scriptures. Like my fathers hands, a used set of scriptures shows they served the reader well. One could become humbled and bless the lives of all who possess and search them for answers and a deeper meaning to life eternal. One glance by a stranger or non believer might cause a look of disgust.

To have a set of scriptures that haven’t been opened and read is a sin in and of itself. They are meant to be used as a compass, a source of strength, knowledge, joy and peace. What sense is it make to have them if they do nothing more than sit on a shelf and collect dust? Much like my fathers hands being worn with age, there is so much beauty in things that have been used to bring about joy throughout this life and in the life to come. My fathers set of scriptures were well read and well marked. I would look at his rough hands holding his scriptures tenderly and reverently. To me this was real beauty.