The Father's Hands

His little eyes peeked around the arm of the couch. I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to walk to me. His daddy was closer to him, and as we watched, his little wobbly legs slowly inched around the couch leg. Tongue sticking out in determination, fingers digging into the cushion for balance, toes curled into the rug as if walking on curled toes would make him coast farther.

We could tell by the wobbling that he wasn’t going to make it far. Daddy leaned out and offered his hand, “Here, Buddy! Let me help you.”

The tongue lolled out on the determined child’s face…drool dripped from his chin, and a smile raised his chubby cheeks. He reached out, slapping his daddy’s hand and finally grasping the fingers offered him.

Tiny baby fingers grasped the callused ones so much bigger than his own. Daddy had come to the rescue. He could walk a few steps with help until gathered into the strong arms of the father that praised his efforts.

In that moment I watched, little tears gathered in my eyes, as I watched my son trying to coast the furniture. He needed his daddy—he wasn’t ready to do it on his own. But I also saw myself in the eyes of my son. I am that little child, wobbly legs balanced by toes curled tightly into the ground, as I try to walk. I often feel overwhelmed, insecure, and certain I will fall flat on my bottom.

Then the Father reaches out, His hands strong, and He offers me help. He doesn’t do it for me, but He gives me the opportunity to find support. I am never alone.

Often I act like Peter, the man who pridefully thought he was walking the waves due to his own merit. Then he saw the waves, and began to sink. His legs wobbled, and I’m sure his toes curled into the cold waves as he frantically thought he was going to fall.

But the hands were there too.

The hands are never far for the child who needs them.

That’s where I’ve been the last month. I haven’t been blogging. I have been soaking up my boy, learning with my husband, and grasping for the Father’s hand because my world feels difficult and stormy sometimes.

I’ve been learning.

The strong hands of my Father are holding both of mine, and He is teaching me what it means to walk—just as we teach Gracin.

I’m thankful for my Father’s hands. I’d be flat on my bum without them.