For 55 years, these hands have held each other, through good times and bad.  For richer,  for poorer.  In sickness, and in health.  

My brother and I are lucky enough to call the folks on the ends of these hands Mom and Dad.

And for the past 50 years of those 55 years, these hands have held mine.

They’ve guided me along the paths of life – 

They’ve kept me safe along life’s journey –

Holding me up, urging me forward, cautioning me back –

Lifting me up before my knees hit the sidewalk when I tripped as a girl –

Lifting me up when my heart was broken into a million pieces as an adult –

Coaxing me forward as I tiptoed into new experiences as a girl –

Coaxing me forward as I’ve forged into life changes as an adult –

Holding me back from the fire, the danger, the fears as a girl –

Holding hands together in prayer as I’ve stubbornly charged headlong into the fire, the dangers, the fears as an adult –

The love in these hands.

Through good times and bad.  For richer or for poorer.  In sickness and in health.

Then sings my soul…