So, Derek asked me a few days ago to give a spiritual thought today in Elder's Quorum. I'll be honest with you though, a few years ago, that would have really been a no-brainer. But since that time I've really decided to mete out what I say spiritually to be only exactly what I feel and no more. It's been tough, I wont lie to you. Some of life's challenges and hiccups have really precluded me from being too social in church the past little while. Anyhow, I've been unsure of what to talk about all week. You may laugh, because it was just a simple five minute thought about life, the atonement, the Savior, and a simple testimoney. Pretty much too easy. But like I said, anytime I speak anywhere in class or bearing my testimoney, it's all business and no fluff with me now. There are reasons for that, which I wont really go into here, but suffice it to say, I have a testimoney of the Gospel and the Atonement that is far more deep and rich than before. Not without price of course, but now I feel that it's too important to just throw out there. I think it would best be stated that I no longer throw pearls before swine.
Anyhow, so, as I was sitting there in the over-flow of the chapel today, I was looking down at Olivia's hands. She sat on my lap...well, more balanced back and forth on my lap, stood on my legs, grabbed me around the neck, and really just jungle-gymned all over her daddy. There were some real genuine hugs from her and I felt terribly blessed. Next to me was Stacey, and she was holding Samuel. He's a doll that kid. Engaging bright eyes and a smile that melts your heart effortlessly. He's a real character too. He knows you think he's funny but his smile is so very soft and genuine. I love that little boy. I love all my children. But I love their mother too. Not just because she's given me these five beautiful children, but because they are the little personalities they are because of her. Each of our children shares elements of each of us. Josh has a mischeivious grin and a quick wit. He's smart, but insightful. Alexia is bright and cheery, but passionate to the point of anger when she feels an injustice. Isabelle is quiet and reserved. She always lets everyone else have their way, and when she's injured, her giant near-black eyes well up with tears which she refuses to let drop. She's so very tender. Olivia, the terrible. With her demanding insolence coupled with the soothing beauty she radiates at the final fleeting moments of the day.
Each of these children have their own needs, desires, fears and they all share parts of their parents that shine through readily. I was looking at Samuel's hands today. His hands are strong. He's a very powerful looking little boy. Which is interesting, because his expressions have no guile, no pretense, and he just melts you with a single look. But he's strong, and you can tell that he's going to be blessed with a frame that is more adapted to being a full-back, or linebacker, than that of a receiver. In chick terms, he's going to be full of muscles but not too tall. Anyhow, I was looking at Sam's hands. I have been noticing that the majority of our children have my hands. Stacey's hands are slender and elegant. They're made for playing the piano. I watch her sometimes playing and am in awe of how she deftly navigates the keys, her touch landing with varying pressures to create something inspirational and beautiful.
So, as I sat there, I started thinking about my own father's hands. My dad has hands that always impressed me as a child. They're strong his hands. My dad's hand are riddled with the impressive strength of his veins and the thickness of his hands denotes their inherent strength and power. My dad's hands are not terribly large, but they always impressed me at how he could open jars and turn wrenches and fix things that I just could not do. My dad's hands were often split and cracked from working out in the elements. For many years he was a telephone lineman and repairman. He'd have to work in the extreme heat and cold and repair and splice the intricate wires while hanging from a pole, or hunched over at the roadside inside a box. I remember him getting stung from wasps, and bees when he kept them. My dad's hands were always full of character, and I knew that if anyone ever tried to enter our home, my dad could fix their little wagon in a short hurry.
You know, from there, I started thinking about my grandpa's hands. My grandpa Kenworthy, as I've already talked about, was the nicest and kindest person I've ever met. But he was never weak, he was humble and gracious with everything he had. I may have talked about this before, but my grandpa always had a fingernail or two that were blackened from his work as a carpenter. He was a framing contractor for homes and later on in his life focused on trim and finish carpentry. In my mind he was not a carpenter, but a craftsman, as he took great pains to exact the finest detail on his work. At his funeral, many commented on what a perfectionist he was at his craft. My grandpa could do more than hang a pre-hung door, he could make a door, drill and tap for hinges, hang in on a frame, shim it, plum it, and fit it to precise and exact proportions. I imagine that my grandpa, who was not active in the churcy, would have been the perfect candidate to work on the Lord's Temples, should he have been presented the opportunity. His work was not grandios, nor overly ornate, but was solid and steadfast and built to last well into the next generations. His hands were like my dad's. They both showed the wear of years of work and effort on behalf of their own family whom they provided for. My grandfathers with his blackened nails, and my father with the burn marks, scars and character which brought me such comfort and faith in him as a protector and provider.
But as I stated, this wasn't supposed to be about fathers, and especially not about their hands or my hands, or my sons' and daughters' hands. Then it just came to me, a recollection of a scriptural passage wherein the risen Savior showed his deciples the prints in His hands. Immediately I thought of what it must have been like, to see our Savior so soon after His resurrection. The amazement that it must have been to see a body of flesh and bones. To see His love for you and me, as demonstrated their by the marks that he now carried that exhibit His undying willingness to atone for us. I thought about His hands, and how they will forever show and attest to His personal sacrifice for mankind. I thought about my father. The strength in his own hands that I had aspired to as a boy. How his knuckles were scarred as a testiment to his own willingness to face the challenges of his profession and how much that meant to me. I thought of my grandfather, and his blackened nails, and how he continued to work though it must have been painful to do so. I guess I realized that I have my father's hands. That my father has his father's hands. It's not too much to believe that the pattern holds true, and that as a line of men and sons of an Almighty and loving Heavenly Father, that our hands might more closely resemble His.
I shared that today at the beginning of quorum meeting. I thought it was fitting. That here we are celebrating our own Earthly fathers and their personal sacrifice for us. The long hours, and the fitful nights. Some fathers travel, some work night shift, swing shift, some are deployed on ships for months at a time. Some fathers work oil rigs and some fathers run board meetings. But the one thing that our fathers will always show us is the love for us they have in their hands. Some will place their hands upon our heads in a blessing of comfort when we are ashamed, or afraid, or uncertain. Some of us will watch our fathers give blessings to a family with no Priesthood holder in the home. A certain action which they cannot do for themselves. Some of us will see our fathers help lift a piano, or mend a fence, or any number of manual requirements which cannot be done by their own. Each and every day, through the marks of their profession, these fathers through their experiences and challenges mark themselves and create a lasting impression upon others as to their willingness to exercise through either the Priesthood, or through the simple self-sacrifice to help lift another.
I was thinking since I got home, how thankful I am. How when I might meet the Savior, I may fall at His feet and weep and rejoice in all that He has done for me. How personal His sacrifice has become for me. How the marks in His hands are not without merit, or praise, and how thankful I am that He extends that infinite atonement to me. I hope that He takes my hand, and that as He brings me to my feet, that I can feel the marks in His hands and be counted as one who is thankful and speachless at the breadth and encompassing nature of what He has done.
I hope you have a wonderful Father's Day today. I hope you had a beautiful Sunday. I'm thankful that Derek asked me today, and I'm thankful it wasn't just a simple and easy statement pulled out at random as a scriptural thought. The Atonement and the promises have become so very real to me. They are so very personal, so appreciated, and I am forever in His debt for what I have come to know. Moreover, that He should trust me to teach and watch over His spirit children in my home, together with my lovely spouse is almost too much to fathom.
Well, I better go now, like I said, have a beautiful day, and call your Earthly father today. Then, later on, and throughout the remainder of your week, make sure you thank our Heavenly Father and His son, for the marks in His hands and the extension of His plan to us all.
I gotta go be a dad now. You take care.
All the best,
J
