Hands

 

His hands were so massive.

 

Even his palms were long, and the fingers were even longer.  It was like his forearms didn’t end, but rather just ran down to where his fingertips should have been.  I would almost be willing to bet that his hands and forearms were the same length.

 

The Seiko on his wrist looked tiny in comparison, and the faded old tattoo from the army on top of the rolling muscle above it didn’t really even catch your eye.

 

It was those massive hands.

 

Truck driver’s hands.  That’s what my brother-in-law called them.

 

Hands that knew hard work.  Hands that knew the cold, and the wheel.  Those hands had clutched coffee cups at 14 degrees below zero, and wiped sweat behind a middle buster pulled by a team of mules.

 

There is a God!

 

Miracles happen every day.

 

I think sometimes we just don’t know where to look for them. And, of course, some of them are a little more obvious.

 

While recording the song “There is a God”, I was thinking about a lady in our church, photographer Gail Goss.

 

Gail had received a terrible report from the doctors.  They told her she had cancer, and that she needed to have surgery.

 

Gail was scared to death.  But she had faith.

 

She did what the Word of God tell us to do, and she gathered her church around her, and asked us to pray.

 

Broken

 

My daughter dropped her new iPhone on the hardwood floor of our hallway.

Big mistake.

I heard it when it hit the floor, and there was a sharp SMACK. She was down the hall, and I didn’t see what happened, but, as a dad, I just had a sixth sense that it was that shiny new phone that had made the sound. The moan that followed from the hallway confirmed my hunch.

“Oooooohhhhhhhhh,” was the exclamation that I heard, and it swelled in intensity at the end.

She couldn’t look at it, not at first.

She brought it straight to me, cradling it in her cupped hands, holding it as she would a wounded bird that might, by some miracle, be nursed back to health, and find its wings again.

 

 

The Book

 

I gained some insight into the life of a friend some time ago.

I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with him, because our paths in life were so different, but there were those brief moments and days that we spent together, drawn into the same space by circumstances and life, that I will always remember.

Rev. Wayne Cardwell was strong, slim and athletic, with black eyes that sparkled. He was a man’s man, rugged and handsome, and he loved a good joke.  He had a laugh that would jolt a room, and it was a funny laugh.  His laugh would make you laugh, even if you didn’t have a clue as to what he was laughing about.  You could always tell when he was really comfortable with you, because he had this way of sitting, this way of leaning back, reclining in his seat, that completely put you at ease, and made you feel like he was enjoying being with you.

 

Baggage

 

I love to fly.

I took my first plane ride when I was 18 years old, and I’ve loved it ever since.

When I am on that 747, high above the earth and clouds, it can feel pretty surreal, because you know that you are in a place that you’re not really supposed to be.  You’re in a place where you know you can’t stay.

But you know who I really love?  It’s the guy at the baggage check.  Cause when you’re traveling, as we all are prone to do, we carry along our baggage with us.  You know, all those personal items that make us who we are, and the things that we think we can’t live, or travel, without.

 

One Track

 

Unfortunately, I’m kind of a one-track guy.

I need quiet to concentrate, and if a lot of noise is going on, or if any noise is going on, I have to cover my ears to keep my thoughts from running together.  Not to mention if I am trying to read or study something… it gets even worse then. I need it to be quiet. Not dead silent or anything…  just, as my dad would say, no racket.

Guess I’m just getting old…

So recently, while relaxing in my bedroom, trying to read, my then 12 year old daughter decides to start singing at the top of her lungs in the next room.  Now, I’m pretty easy to get along with, and she is a great singer.  Her voice is beautiful, she has a great ear for pitch, and I’m always encouraging her to sing.