(*Above pic: Chris and Park at a carnival a year ago)
I can remember the very first time Chris ever held my hand. When he casually locked his fingers around mine, it felt like our hands had already spent a lifetime together. I was so taken aback at the comfort and security I felt in his touch. Chris has huge hands and something about their warmth and strength makes everything in my world seem just right.
The very first time I took Park’s little palm in mine, I knew that he had inherited his daddy’s magical hands. Although his desire for independence can fiercely compete with his love for holding hands, at almost two, he will often still reach up to intertwine his fingers with mine. His absolute favorite thing is to wedge himself between Chris and me and hold each of our hands at once.
Sometimes we hold Park’s hand firmly and lead him from whatever danger he is so desperately trying to partake in. Other times we hold his hand loosely and introduce him to fun and exciting experiences. And sometimes we just hold his hand gently, and allow him the freedom to explore, while still enjoying the comfort of trusted companions.
Our hands give him the confidence and assurance he needs to try new things, yet they also give him the discipline and discernment to pull back from peril. While holding onto us, he is able to experience true freedom because he can explore, while knowing that we are there to keep him safe.
As I look down at those little hands resting in ours, I often think about the awesome responsibility of directing his path that we have been given. I also think about the parallels between how I hold Park’s hand and how God holds mine. God holds my hand in different ways at different times, for many of the same reasons I hold Park’s in a certain way.
Too often my desire for my own personal independence fiercely competes with my love of holding God’s hand. Just like Park, I often can pull in a different direction and need a gentle (or even forceful) tug to remind me that He is in control and knows the plans He has for me.
And when my hands are no longer adequate or capable of holding Park’s hands effectively, I will rest in Isaiah 41:10. My son is being upheld by the victorious right hand of the loving Father.
And that, my friends, is what Holding Little Hands is all about!