Hold My Hand

We went for a walk before dinner yesterday.

This kid loves to be outside. It doesn’t seem to matter what the weather. Cold? Raining? Fell in a mud puddle? Who cares. It’s never time to go inside.

I love the way he explores. He’s very thorough. He’ll traverse the same line of frozen snow a dozen times – back and forth, back and forth – and then suddenly move on. He’ll climb the same step and scurry down the same slope again and again, and then turn on a dime to head in another direction.

And when he needs help, he just reaches up and waits for someone to take his hand.

He doesn’t even look up most of the time. He watches what he’s doing, watches his feet usually, and just waits – hand stretched wide above his head.

When we left the back door he reached up for help going down the two big steps. At the end of the short sidewalk he reached up again for help going down the big step to the driveway. Curbs, snow piles, uneven terrain of mud and wet leaves mashed together – his tiny red mitten would appear above his head.

And then, as we walked down a quiet side street, the mitten popped up again. 

I glanced around briefly and didn’t see any obstacle, but slipped my hand out of my pocket and pressed two fingers into his tiny, warm palm. He didn’t look up. Didn’t break stride. Didn’t stumble. He just kept walking.

Holding my hand

And somehow the approaching dusk suddenly didn’t feel so cold, and the hours that I wasn’t registering on my time clock didn’t feel so urgent.

We just walked together for a minute – away from the past that was setting behind us, but in no impossible rush to chase the shadows racing out in front of us. His arm stretched high to clasp my fingers. My hand wrapped around his mitten.

And I prayed that I will always be there to hold his hand. When something he’s facing is too new or too hard for him to do on his own, and he just needs a little assurance, a little extra strength.

But also when he just wants to walk – when there isn’t anything to say, and no where urgent to be. When the time clock or the dishes or my pillow are waiting, and he opens his hand for my attention and affection, I prayed I will always choose him over myself.

I want to always be there when his hand stretches up to find mine, and I want him to always know he can reach for me whenever he wants to.

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