Lloyd's Hands
A long time ago, when I was a little boy, we had a Christmas program at church one night. It was cold and dark and icy because it had been snowing, and when I was walking back to the car I started to slip in the ice and fall. I grabbed Dad's hand and he held me up and helped me to the car. I remember how strong and warm and guiding they were. I watched his hands as they worked through the years and they were always strong and warm and guiding until he got sick. As he got sicker they grew colder and weaker and shaky and the last time I held them they were cold and lifeless. I realized then that I was his hands and that the only way they could carry on their life's work was if I took their strength and warmth and helped other along their way.
We have recently gone through this same thing in the community, where we have been forced into a role that we'd rather not have just yet. Lloyd's hands were like my Dad's hands. They were strong and roughened from years of hard work, but they were gentle and kind and always reaching out. When I sat in the pew at church wrestling with various children or feeling tired or overworked or depressed, Lloyd's hands always knew when to grab my shoulder as he passed by. He never did it unless I needed it and he always did it when I needed it and I don't know how he knew.
When you traveled with Lloyd his hands were always quick to reach for his wallet to buy your drink or meal or the parking ticket. When we went to the Bar-b-que house and the play, his hands hurried to encourage the bus driver we didn't really know to come in and join us and they were the first to buy his meal and ticket.
Lloyd's hands were always ready to show and to guide young people. I remember when I was on the little league ball team how his hands showed us how to play and the firm patience they used to correct our mistakes.
Lloyd's hands were always there to help out a neighbor or to help with the church. I remember watching Lloyd's hands as they held onto the poles we used to put up the new church signs along the road. I remember Lloyd's hands holding his choir book and the hymnal and I remember Lloyd's hands holding onto the pew as he spoke with tears in his eyes of his appreciation of the work the youth counselor's did for the youth rally.
Lloyd's hands were ready to help him express himself as he gave his testimony at the Christmas program and when he thanked us for helping him when he needed it. Lloyd's hands were full of kindness and laughter and love. But Lloyd's hands aren't with us anymore. Lloyd's hands are lifted in praise and singing. Lloyd's hands are helping and holding others. Lloyd's hands are doing for eternity what they were created to do.
That leaves us to carry on their work here. It is our hands that have to reach out and touch each other. It is our hands that will have to reach for our wallets quickly and often. It is our hands that will have to lead and guide the youth. It is our hands that will have to do the work of the church. It is our hands that will have to hold the hymnals and choir books high and proud.
It is a hard job and a sad job and a job that we did not want to have to do and that we cannot do as easily or as well, but we weren't given any choice. It is our hands that will have to work to be faithful and diligent and true if we are to remember the love in Lloyd's hands.
