Little Hands
This past Sunday at Mass a family of five – Mom, Dad,
and three little girls were seated about five pews ahead of us. The father held the youngest one who was just
at that age where she was looking all around her, taking everything and everyone
in. The entire time I noticed that her
right hand was free, but her left hand held tightly unto dad’s shoulder. That image is perhaps the best image of how
we should go through life - anchored in the protection and the safety of those
who love us, but one hand free to reach out to new experiences. That image got me to thinking about those
times in life when an entire relationship is embodied in the touch of a little hand.
As a father of four, I appreciate the special bond
between mother and child. They are
intimately close to one another’s heartbeat, to one another’s movements from
the earliest moments of the baby’s development in the womb. For a father, the moment of physical connection
with each of my children was when they were just minutes from birth and they
reached out and grasped my finger with their tiny hand. It is amazing really how tightly they can grasp. In that moment, my heart assured them that they
could count on me, they could trust me, they could feel safe with me, because I
love them.
The next step is when they begin to reach out for toys
that rattle, jingle, play music and everything else that they can get their
hands on and put in their mouths. As a
dad with a beard, I also remember this as the time that they seemingly
innocently reached out to touch you, but what they really intended was to grab
two hands full of whiskers and pull tightly.
And when they smile and giggle as you plead, “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” and try
to pry their fingers free, you realize that no, you can’t stay mad at them. You’ll forgive them, just as you know you are
forgiven, because you love them. If not,
why did you get back down on the floor with them the next day where your
whiskers were within reach again?
If holding on is a milestone, so is letting go. When each of my children began pulling themselves
up on chairs and coffee tables, and pant legs so they could stand, they reached
out to take my hand for support as they tried to figure out what to do
next. Then, with their arms extended
upward, hand clasped to hand, they began to take those first timid and wobbly steps. Soon though, as they gain balance and courage,
they realize before the parent that it necessary to let go. It is perhaps the first reminder for a parent
that, just as God walks with you through life, for the rest of your child’s
life, the best you can deliver is to just be there for them.
Children’s hands probably get celebrated most in their
early years of school. I know that we
have boxes and drawers that are full of paper cutout Thanksgiving Day turkeys
and Christmas reindeer, and Easter Bunnies from our children and now our
grandchildren. There’s even a giraffe in
there somewhere from a granddaughter who knows how to score points with Grandma
Michelle, who loves giraffes.
Maybe the most appreciated little hands are those of
my grandchildren who never grasped my finger, or held my hand, or traced a paper
cutout animal. They weren’t with us long
enough for those kinds of moments. But,
I ask them each day to fold their little hands in prayer for me and for all of
us that we will all be together someday where you never have to let go.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
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