A Working Man's Hands

One day a while back before I retired, I studied my hands.  Gone were the callouses from hard work.  I remember using fingernail clips and scissors to trim the callouses.  Sometimes the callouses would crack open and become sore.  At times, my hands would be so rough that I could not rub my hands across fine linen without snagging the material.  Loading paper wood, using wrenches, and handing hoes, picks, and shovels make callouses.

Gone are oil and grease stains.  My hands were always in something greasy or in burnt motor oil.  Growing up poor, my daddy, brothers, and I did a lot of repairs to worn out and broke down equipment.  Burnt motor oil and dirty grease are two of the hardest things to clean off your hands.  Grease and oil under the fingernails will stain the nails.  An old friend taught me to scrape hand soap under my nails before working in grease and oil prevents stains.  Clean oil and WD 40 will also help clean-burnt oil and nasty grease.

Gone from my hands were the stains and smells of “hawg killin’.”  Pigs love nasty.  Scaldin’ and pullin’ hair on a 300lb nasty pig will stain your hands.  I had to wear off the smell and the stain.

Gone are the splinters, the black fingernails, cuts, and scrapes.  I have had some booger splinters.  I had one go deep under a fingernail.  Momma had to cut the nail deep into the “quick,” almost the whole nail, just to use tweezers to pull it out from under the nail.  I remember pulling the nail off my middle finger when I shut it in the front door.  My hands have been so sore that it hurt to use them.

That’s enough about my hands.  I shake a lot of hands, and I take notice of the hands I hold.  Hands reflect the person.  I noticed the calloused hands of a lady one day.  It had been a long time since I felt a female hand that calloused.  I knew the lady worked hard with her hands.

I notice that many of my colleagues in the full-time ministry have soft hands.  They tend to be very protective of their hands and have a flimsy handshake.  I think to myself, oooh.  I notice that some of these soft-handed colleagues have small bottles hand sanitizers and cleanse their hands after shaking hands.  Sometimes I wish that these colleagues would have a clinic on hand sanitation for some of the folks in fast food restaurants business.

Most folks have firm handshakes.  Every once in a while, I get a fellow that wants to show me how strong he is and how weak I am.  You know the one that squeezes your hand where your fingers twist together and if you are wearing a ring, the impression of the ring lingers on the finger for a while.  A doctor friend showed me how to prevent “My hand is a vice, you whimp” technique.

I try not to hurt the hands of people when shaking.  Arthritis has crippled some hands.  Some hands are small and tender.

As I examined my hands I thought of the song, Daddy’s Hands, Holly Dunn recorded.

    

I remember Daddy’s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy’s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

I remember Daddy’s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy’s hands.

 

I think of my daddy’s hands when I hear this song.  His hands were big and strong.  I also think of Jesus’ hands.  I have to believe that his hands were calloused and scared from years of carpentry.  I wonder what the Roman soldier thought as he nailed Jesus’ hands to the cross.  I am sure it was not the same as those that Jesus touched.

Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them (Luke 4:40 KJV).

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God. . . (John 13:3 KJV).