On Monday, we buried my dad. On that day I realized something. While others have left handprints, Mom and Dad have been holding my heart in their hands. They have always tried to protect my heart, guard it, strengthen it, and point it in the right direction. Now one pair of those supporting hands is gone. They lie folded in a dusty grave awaiting the life-giving call of the resurrection morning. My heart is left wounded and out of balance.
But it is still beating. Jesus' hands have slipped in to take Dad's place. Since Jesus has promised to be a "father to the fatherless," Psalm 68:5, His hands now hold my heart, protect it, strengthen it, and point it in the right direction. How thankful I am that I am not left alone. Even when I lose Mom, which I hope and pray won't be for a very long time, I know that my heart will still be safe. It is beating in the hands of God.
Here is the slide show shown at Dad's funeral. Eighty-two years in a little less than five minutes. Wow! The music is Dad's favorite song, "How Great Thou Art," by Chris Rice.