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Holding Hands
by Keri Wyatt Kent
It was a beautiful spring day, sunny but with a hint
of coolness in the air. A day you needed a jacket, but
not desperately.
My son, Aaron, and I decided to walk to the library,
about four blocks from our house. After a bitterly cold
winter, it was a relief to be able to walk instead of
drive.
We strolled down the sidewalk, my son proudly marching
along carrying the books we were returning in his
backpack.
As we walked, Aaron slipped his hand into mine. A
comfortable, familiar gesture, but it touched my heart
this spring day. I was suddenly aware of how he’s
growing, how big his hand feels (even though it is still
much smaller than mine).
I remembered how, when he was learning to walk, his hand
gripped mine in a different way: tightly, pulling to
steady himself.
And then when he had mastered walking and learned to
run, I held his hand in another way altogether: firmly,
to prevent him from escaping and running into the street
or other places he could get into trouble.
But now, he is five. He doesn’t need me to restrain him
or support him as he walks. He could walk on his own. He
doesn’t run into the street anymore, although sometimes
he will run ahead and then run back to me, showing me
how fast he can sprint.
But for the moment, his hand in mine is gentle. The
embrace of our two palms is a picture of the safety and
love that we feel in each other’s presence. Our
hand-holding has no purpose, no agenda other than
affirmation to one other, without words, that we enjoy
just being together.
How short this time is, that Aaron will hold my hand
this way. In a few years, maybe sooner, his friends will
let him know that holding hands with his mommy is not
cool. He will be riding his bike or a scooter or
skateboard. He will not hold hands with anyone, at least
for a few years. So this moment, this hand-in-hand walk,
is a gift.
As I walked, the words of a chorus we sing at church
played through my mind: “I’m gonna hold to His hand,
God’s unchanging hand.”
I want to hold God’s hand in the way Aaron and I were
holding hands today: peacefully, gently, steady and
sure, but free from any effort at manipulation. But
sometimes, I don’t manage to hold His hand in this way.
Sometimes, I am like a willful toddler and God has to
hold my hand quite firmly in order to keep me from doing
something foolish. It often feels to me like He is not
giving me what I want, and I protest. But in hindsight,
I see that He kept me safe by not letting me run in the
wrong direction.
Sometimes, walking with God, I start to stumble. Like
Peter on the water, I take my eyes off Jesus and He has
to reach out and catch hold of me.
And while He will always catch me, He’s likely to gently
chide me, just as he did Peter: "Oh you of little faith,
why did you doubt?"
I want to walk calm and steady, focused on Him and not
my doubts. I want to walk through my life keeping my
hand in God’s the way Aaron had his in mine, all the way
to the library and all the way home—and wherever else he
leads me.
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