Thinking and writing lately about John Muir and the beatings he received from his father—often in the cause of compelling him to memorize Scripture—I could not help thinking about my own father, Henry Ohlman, whose soul has been in God’s good keeping for thirty-four years.

Family and friends remember Dad for almost all good reasons, but one physical feature they all recall was his big hands. Once when we were eating in a restaurant, a waitress stopped and commented, “Goodness, are those your hands? For a second there, I thought you had your feet on the table!” And with that rude remark, she hustled off to the kitchen, leaving Dad in embarrassed silence.

It seems like everyone noticed his large hands. Years after his death, a friend would sometimes say, “My, your dad sure had big hands. Whenever he shook my hand, it almost got lost in his big mitt!” The remarks of friends and relatives, however, were not unkind; they arose naturally out of their memories of a man with a heart as big as his hands.

Henry was born into a family of eight children on a small farm in West Michigan in 1902. And it was the farm that was to shape his life—and his hands. Milking cows, wielding the ax, steering the cultivator, and reining horses helped to develop his stocky frame and broaden the girth of his growing hands. Formal schooling ended for him after eighth grade. The demands of the farm in the years of World War I meant that school could not continue: American needed to feed England and France.

Dad did not marry until age 28, and I, the youngest of four, did not enter the family until he was forty. But soon those big hands were to have a profound impact on my life. With memory’s eye, I can still see Elsie Egermeier’s Bible Story Book cradled in those hands as he read to us after each evening meal. Even now when I read of Noah, Moses, David, or Jonah, I am transported back to those warm and secure times right after World War II.

We kids used to chuckle when Dad’s big, callused fingers struggled with the wispy, thin pages of his Scofield Study Bible. His Bibles wore out rather quickly, but not merely because of his hands: they were tattered by constant use. Along with his giant hands, he had a giant faith. The Bible was his guide in his worship, in his love for Mom, in his concern for others, in his generosity, and in his philosophy of child-rearing and discipline. Dad did not use a belt or a brush or any other implement when it was necessary to apply a little corporal punishment. He used those big hands—hard enough to smart, but never injure.

Many child psychologists, with some justification, claim that parents should not use their hands to spank—for fear that a child might become terrified of their hands. Instead, they claim, some neutral object like a wooden spoon should stand as the symbol of punishment. Then the child will merely fear the object and not the parent. Perhaps this is true in some instances, but since my father was just as quick to use those hands to pick me up, place me on his lap, and embrace me with arms of love and forgiveness, I never cringed in their presence.

Those wonderful big hands, however, did teach me some valuable lessons about God: He is a God of love and mercy, but He is also my heavenly Father who must chasten me when I disobey, push me when I need help getting started, point the way when I need direction, lift me when I must get over the rough spots, stop me when I go astray, and clasp me in love’s embrace when sorrow comes. That’s what I can expect from the hands of God. No follower of Christ needs to fear the big hands of a just but merciful heavenly Father.

My regret is that only one of our three sons knew Dad long enough to remember Bappa’s big hands. To him those hands were the fascinating extensions of a loving heart reflected through twinkling eyes and a broad smile.

When he died at age 73, it was only fitting that Mom should lean over Dad’s casket, touch those hands, and echo the words of Catherine Marshall, “Good night, sweetheart, I’ll see you in the morning.”

I don’t know what Henry’s heavenly body will look like, but I hope God will allow him to keep those wonderful, big hands!

See you outdoors!

Dean