Hands. They are a beautiful thing. This particular pair is that of my grandaddy. They were strong. Soft. Hardworking. Loving. Callused. Gentle. Steady. Beautiful. I always had a fondness for holding my grandaddy’s hand. I don’t know if it’s because my small hands always felt safe in his, or if they just always seemed loving… But whatever the case, I loved these hands and the man that was attached to them. I will no longer hold his hand this side of eternity, but I look forward to the day when I get to embrace his hands again. #thebeautyingrace