Little Hands

Little hands - They belong to such little people. Every now and again you can catch a glimpse of the grown up in them, a mature face with that exact expression still passing across it. It is fascinating to look into their eyes in that moment and imagine their future, shaped by the present circumstances and lessons that are growing them. And at that same moment you see the innocence and the childish joy or curiosity that still binds them to their present reality. It makes your heart burst with the miracle of life and the great gift that life is.

Last night, we were gathered in the living room doing advent. The house was dark, and two candles were lit in the advent wreath. I was sitting on the floor with Nathan stretched across my lap. My hand lay on the edge of the coffee table to support Nathan's heavy head nestled in the crook of my elbow. His little hand reached up to the back of mine, barely bigger than the back of my palm. His finger bumped up and down my knuckle wrinkles, absently pushing them back and forth over the knobby bone. Such a little thing, but I was completely transfixed. What a gift children are: a gift from God, gifts for us to train up in the fear and admonition of Him. As we bowed our heads to pray, the miracle of this gift held me in wonder and awe. My eyes were closed, enjoying Nathan's weight in my arms. WHACK! Nathan swung one leg up to cross it over his other leg when the wide arc of his little foot smacked me right in my closed eye. "Ooh," I grunted (quietly, as we were still praying), as I grasped for the bruised socket that use to contain my eye. "Sorry," Nathan's loud whisper interrupted Darren's praying. So much for the moment.