"Hold my hand, son."
I stubbornly refused, knowing full well I could do it all by myself.
But Daddy knew the dangers of a little boy crossing the road alone and firmly took my hand and we, together, crossed safely over.

Daddy's hands were always ready to help.
Help fix my broken toys, help to teach me how to throw a ball,
help show God's Love to his fellow man, help to keep me always
on the straight and narrow.

There was a time (I shudder to think of it now) I did not want
Dad's hands or Dad's help.  I was a "man" of seventeen and I
mistakenly thought I could do it all -- by myself.
But Dad, in his God-given wisdom, knew all I needed was my
Daddy's hand on my shoulder and his godly example to lead the way.

Tomorrow my son and I are going to see Dad.
He's not been too good lately, since Mom passed on.
I want to show my son my Daddy's hands and tell him stories of
where they've been and what they've done and what great power
is in Daddy's hands.  I want to touch Dad with a grateful soul.
I want to say, "Daddy, hold our hands."