Daddy's Hands

We sang Daddy's Hands at church this morning. I couldn't help but look down at mine. My index fingers are identical to my Dad's.

The song and the sermon brought back memories of the charming man I called Daddy.

He wasn't perfect, and he wasn't holy by any means. He didn't change his world to revolve around mine. Yet he was there for the things that were important and always welcomed me into his world. He didn't make me do many things, but he taught me how to do everything he knew. Fish, hunt, drive a straight shift, change a tire, saddle a horse, spit shine a pair of boots, cook when needed, and so much more.

Psalm 68:5 popped into my mind before the Pastor said it.  How fortunate was I to have an imperfect Dad who protected and provided for me? And above everything, loved me unconditionally the same way my heavenly Father does.