Hand in Hand

It does not get much better than the clutch of baby fingers, that instinctive grip around our hearts. This particular pair of hands belong to my sister-in-law and her younger son, from a sunny morning I spent with them earlier this week, recording his nearly-new sweetness for birth announcements, brag books and frames.

I braced myself, a bit. For a wash of emotion and wistfulness, that would flow in with his milky scent. We have felt for awhile a peace from God about the size of our little family, a sense of completion and fullness. But I loved having my babies, and I adored them in their tiny, God-fresh perfection, and I was prepared to be carried away with nostalgia at best and doubt at worst.

And I loved this feel of the little bundle in my arms, and the cuddle of the little face into my neck, and the impossible smallness of every fingernail and the softness of earlobe and cheek. But I came away still peaceful, filled, happy. Happy to be having a lively conversation with Sam over lunch, happy to meet my big boy at the bus and hear about and help him process his school day. Happy to have these bigger hands in mine for the journey. No doubt about it, it is fun to hear my boy read to me, and have help making cupcakes, and see drawings that are rich in imagination and detail, and have one of them say to me, "Remember when. . . "

All the time I am reminded what a blessing it is to be present for every part of these little lives, to move from year to year with them, to give and receive help and love, to climb and grow together. Not letting go, hand in hand, holding close in heart.

Walk hand in hand with somebody you love this weekend.