Take My Hand

I remember when my kids were young and they wanted to hold my hand when they were unsure of their next step when they were wee-bits learning to walk.

They would look up with their eyes so full of expectancy and trust, reach up with their baby soft chubby fingers and wait for my hand to grasp onto theirs.

Once they felt my hand, they happily and confidently took their next step forward.

They knew.

The knew I would be there.

They would reach up confidently without giving a second thought that maybe I wouldn't be.

They knew I wouldn't let go and wouldn't let them fall.

That is how I picture God with us.

Waiting for us to reach up and grab hold of the waiting hand that is there when we want it. When we need it.

Waiting for us to remember He is there with an outstretched hand to guide us through the unknown future.

I've always been the girl that begged God for a sign, anything to let me know I was on the right path.

But maybe all I've really needed to do was draw close and take the hand that was waiting to be held.

In the silence.

In the whisper.

That is when I sense His presence. That is when I know. It doesn't matter what the future holds or if I am on the right track. Being close to the One that holds my heart, whom has the stars numbered, and my hairs (even the gray ones) counted is the only true thing that matters in this life.

I take His hand and my breathing slows. My heart fills with knowing. I am Held. And I can trust that just like I wouldn't let go of my little new walker, He won't let go of me.

Selah.



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