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His Hands May Be Rough From Work, But They Are Gentle With My Fragile Heart

His Hands May Be Rough From Work, But They Are Gentle With My Fragile Heart

Dear husband, 

Your hands may be dry, chipped and rough from work, but they are gentle with my fragile heart. They take care of me the way no one else did before…

That’s right. My husband works a manual labor job.

He works hard to support our big family. He is a man of many talents. A creative, enthusiastic and driven human being who was always meant to make stuff with his hands. If he could choose again, he would always choose the job that he has now. He is proud of the work he does. And to be honest, I couldn’t be prouder of his determination, either.

Now let me clear your doubts. As I said, he works his job because he chose it himself. And yes, he studied and practiced hard to get the education he needs to learn his profession. Oh, let’s not forget about this one… No, we’re not poor. In fact, we have more than enough. More than I could have ever asked for. More than I ever hoped for.

He puts a roof over our heads, brings food on the table but he also takes care of his mother and father. He provides for our big family and teaches our children that there is nothing a man couldn’t do if he only put his mind to it. He is the greatest example of strength, perseverance, and devotion. They see it in his eyes, they feel it in the smell of his work clothes and in the hugs he gives them at the end of the day.

He comes home at the end of the workday, kicks off his work boots, takes off his jacket and his hat and he smiles. He smiles with exhaustion, but his heart is full. I see it in those sparks in his pretty green eyes. He is tired,  but he is happy to be finally home. Ready to have lunch and spend the entire night watching a movie and talking about how our days went.

I love the way his hair smells, no matter how filthy it is. I love his big work boots. I love the way he greets me when he comes from work. I love his big, scruffy beard. I love his eyes. I love his big, strong arms. I love his silly grin.

But if there is one thing that I love the most about this man, that’s his hands.

Oh, how strong and rough those hands are, yet they somehow touch me in the most gentle way that I’ve ever felt in my entire life.  

They may be calloused and chipped from all the hard work, but those hands hold my fragile heart. Those hands tuck me into bed and cuddle me until I fall asleep. Those hands give me the warmest and most loving hugs. Those hands wake me up in the morning and make me the most beautiful breakfast. Those hands have held my arms back in labor. Those hands have caressed me when I’ve felt the worst. Those hands carry our children and take them to school. Those hands reach out for me in the darkness when I am on the other side of the bed. Those hands are what keeps me alive. The reason I breathe and open my eyes in the morning.

My man makes his way in this world by the strength of his back. And he makes me the proudest person alive.

What a wonderful gift it is to share your life with someone who loves you so much that he would do anything to provide for his family.

Stephanie Reeds