Linking up with the lovely Lisa-Jo today for Five Minute Friday.
The rules are: write for five minutes, no editing, no over thinking, no perfectionism. Just messy real thinking. The kind that demonstrates how tangled my head is on this day.
Sigh. Ok. Here goes:
When I walk in front of my boys I often reach back with my right hand and sort of wave it, waiting, for a small warm hand to join mine. Generally they both still reach for me. Their grips are as warm as the sun and softly say “I love you,” with each generous clasp.
I pull them to me for hugs or to wipe faces or to fix an errant zipper (or backwards pants – yep, that happens a lot) and they tug back and want to wrestle away, but hands?
Their hands are always willing for holding.
I am so grateful.
No eye contact, no spoken request, just a hand reaching, met with the soft response of “I am here. I need you. I trust you.”
When I sit in church next to the tall blonde husband and we rise to sing – I link my fingers through his and hold on to him. Lately there has been a lot more reason to hold tightly, grip as though he is an anchored ship in a large storm. We hold onto each other. There are many times during our day where we are talking at each other, around each other, past each other, but our hands meet and we sing to Our Father instead. I love how his hand encloses mine, and I lean against him. “I am here. I need you. I trust you.”
And when I think of Jesus I so often pray for His hands to hold me, to heal what’s aching, to soften the blows of life. He speaks to me through his word, through my quiet times, through music.
But sometimes He doesn’t speak at all. He simply sits next to me and holds my hand. And that is when my small hand grips on with the soft trust and the warm faith of a child.