Holding Hands



The fastest way for me to shed a tear and have to mop up the mascara on my face is to listen to the old hymn, Take my Life and Let it Be. It was the first song that I taught my boys on the very first day of our home school journey twenty years ago. I can still here their young voices in my mind even as I write this. My heart swells with emotion when I hear the phrase, “Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of Thy love”. It is my desire and longing that my children will not only give their lives to our wonderful Savior but that they will experience the thrill, the adventure and the deep fellowship that comes with serving an amazing God. It takes trust to put our hand in His.

I have never been a good at waiting. My own kinesthetic learning style does not allow me to sit still very long. I just don’t know what to do while I wait. Recently, I have been more puzzled by this concept of waiting and it has filled the pages of my journal and quiet time with the Lord.

I recalled a moment when my children and I were in the parking lot and I spouted out the usual orders to our little one, “Hold my hand”. She placed her hand in mine but for whatever reason, I took unusual notice of the feeling of rest and trust her little hand communicated to me. “Could it be that simple Lord?” I immediately asked my God, who is there 24/7 for all of us. I looked at the busy parking lot. This day, it seemed like every driver was just a little more careless and reckless than usual.  But despite the chaos, my little girl’s hand was snug in mine without a look of panic or concern on her face.

The Lord brought me down memory lane as I thought about the children’s hands I have held. There is the mousy hand holding that says, “I’m not sure about this. I’m not sure you care enough to hold my hand.” There is the pulling away hand holding that says, “I will lead and you follow.” There is the letting go hand holding where the child continually drops the grasp but walks beside you that says, “I will walk with you but on my own terms.” And of course there is the wriggling hand holding, that says, “I am not going where you want me to go!” You can tell a lot about a child’s heart by how they hold your hand.

I had to admit, I had been the wriggling hand holder. For the remainder of the day, I thought about the feeling of rest and trust of my little ones hand in mine. I stood at the “busy street of my life” and realized there is rest and freedom when I place my hand in Jesus’ hand. It is that simple. When He walks, I walk. When He loves, I love. When He stops and cares, I stop and care. When he asks me to wait, I wait. The worry of “what could happen” is simply replaced with my hand in His, my eyes on Him, and patiently waiting, knowing that he will tell me when it is safe to cross the streets on my life. The melody of that old hymn rose in my heart as I prayed slowly, “Lord, take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of Thy love.”

Oh great, I need another tissue and some more mascara.

From Our House to Yours,


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