Rich wrote this to capture some of his thoughts after working in the yard. It was shared with the Lutheran Education Association which published it as a "Guest Devotions."
My Father’s Hands
Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned him, and to which God has called him. 1 Corinthians 7:17
My Father’s Hands
My father worked as a finance manager for a large corporation, however, he wanted to be a farmer. He loved to plant, cultivate and enjoy the benefits of his labor.
Not having the land or resources for conventional farm crops, dad concentrated on landscaping his yard. Flower beds, shrubs, trees and the occasional water feature all took shape beneath his talented hands. Every weekend he would work in the yard: weeding, planting, pruning, cutting, digging, mulching, trimming, or whatever needed to be done dependent on the plant’s needs. His hands reflected his labor with dirt under the nails, dried blood from thorn scratches and the occasional sliver poking through the skin. With each scratch, poke, or scrape he would wipe his hands on his pants and continue working. The scabs and scars bore witness to his labor.
Over the years his hands reflected the constant exposure to the sun as age spots appeared on the surface of his hands. Age also robbed him of a resilient skin and his hands reflected even more scratches. But he continued to plant, prune and pursue his passion for growing things despite any discomfort his hands gave him. God called him home as he was in the process of transplanting a tree.
I inherited my father’s desire to work in the yard: planting, pruning, fertilizing, digging, trimming, mulching, and even creating the occasional water feature. The other day I was in the process of trimming the rose bushes when I felt something warm dripping over my hand. I looked down and saw blood from a thorn scratch flowing down my wrist. I wiped my hand on my pants and stopped.
I was looking at my father’s hand. Dirt under the nails, blood from a scratch, age spots and various healed injuries all mirrored my father’s hand. I paused. I thanked God for my father and his training in yardwork. I also thanked God for how my father taught me to follow Jesus. He planted Gospel seeds and then cultivated them through the Word and his example. He taught me to pray, to sing praises, to give, to share the Gospel story – in a word – he showed me how to live as a disciple of Jesus.
I was often reminded of my father and his vocation of gardener as I stood in front of my classroom looking into the faces of young lives - eager to learn, grow and flourish on their own. Just as my father watered, feed and cultivated his blooming plants; I watered, feed and nourished my young students from the Word. Dad would protect his flowers from the storms and I tried to protect my pupils from the storms of life by giving them a foundation in Christ. Dad would look at the fruits of his labor and point to God as Creator and Sustainer. When my students would leave my instruction and protection I would praise God for the faith imparted by the Holy Spirit and thank Him for the opportunity I had to share in their growth.
As I trim the roses and thorns pierce my flesh I am reminded of my father’s hands pierced by thorns. I am also reminded of my Brother, Jesus, whose hands were pierced on the cross of Calvary so that I might be His Father’s son.
I pray that my hands will always be about my Father’s business.
Prayer: God grant me the strength to serve You in all that I speak and do as I serve those around me. Let me use my hands for You. Amen.
My Father’s Hands
My father worked as a finance manager for a large corporation, however, he wanted to be a farmer. He loved to plant, cultivate and enjoy the benefits of his labor.
Not having the land or resources for conventional farm crops, dad concentrated on landscaping his yard. Flower beds, shrubs, trees and the occasional water feature all took shape beneath his talented hands. Every weekend he would work in the yard: weeding, planting, pruning, cutting, digging, mulching, trimming, or whatever needed to be done dependent on the plant’s needs. His hands reflected his labor with dirt under the nails, dried blood from thorn scratches and the occasional sliver poking through the skin. With each scratch, poke, or scrape he would wipe his hands on his pants and continue working. The scabs and scars bore witness to his labor.
Over the years his hands reflected the constant exposure to the sun as age spots appeared on the surface of his hands. Age also robbed him of a resilient skin and his hands reflected even more scratches. But he continued to plant, prune and pursue his passion for growing things despite any discomfort his hands gave him. God called him home as he was in the process of transplanting a tree.
I inherited my father’s desire to work in the yard: planting, pruning, fertilizing, digging, trimming, mulching, and even creating the occasional water feature. The other day I was in the process of trimming the rose bushes when I felt something warm dripping over my hand. I looked down and saw blood from a thorn scratch flowing down my wrist. I wiped my hand on my pants and stopped.
I was looking at my father’s hand. Dirt under the nails, blood from a scratch, age spots and various healed injuries all mirrored my father’s hand. I paused. I thanked God for my father and his training in yardwork. I also thanked God for how my father taught me to follow Jesus. He planted Gospel seeds and then cultivated them through the Word and his example. He taught me to pray, to sing praises, to give, to share the Gospel story – in a word – he showed me how to live as a disciple of Jesus.
I was often reminded of my father and his vocation of gardener as I stood in front of my classroom looking into the faces of young lives - eager to learn, grow and flourish on their own. Just as my father watered, feed and cultivated his blooming plants; I watered, feed and nourished my young students from the Word. Dad would protect his flowers from the storms and I tried to protect my pupils from the storms of life by giving them a foundation in Christ. Dad would look at the fruits of his labor and point to God as Creator and Sustainer. When my students would leave my instruction and protection I would praise God for the faith imparted by the Holy Spirit and thank Him for the opportunity I had to share in their growth.
As I trim the roses and thorns pierce my flesh I am reminded of my father’s hands pierced by thorns. I am also reminded of my Brother, Jesus, whose hands were pierced on the cross of Calvary so that I might be His Father’s son.
I pray that my hands will always be about my Father’s business.
Prayer: God grant me the strength to serve You in all that I speak and do as I serve those around me. Let me use my hands for You. Amen.