Holding hands
My wife and I just celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with a trip to Traverse City. It was the annual Cherry Festival and we participated in one of my favorite pastimes – people watching. There were all sorts of people walking up and down the streets. There were kids on skateboards, folks riding motorcycles, people on scooters, and some funky golf cart looking things. People were walking up and down the streets until late at night. But one thing stood out to me as we watched all of the people enjoying the festival; there were a lot of kids holding their parents hands.
I know it sounds silly, but my daughter is 20 and doesn’t hold my hand anymore. I remember walking down the street with her little hand in mine. I remember picking her up and carrying her when she was too tired to walk anymore. I remember her sitting on my lap and me reading a story to her. I remembered all of those times while I watched these moms and dads with their sons and daughters.
I don’t know when Lindsay stopped holding my hand. I miss her reaching out and taking my hand when she wanted to show me something she had found. I miss her taking my hand when she was nervous in a crowd. I don’t know when she stopped holding my hand; I do know that I miss it.
Let’s be honest. Our children will grow up. They will get older and they will become more and more independent. That is how it works. That is the way it is supposed to work at least. But sometimes with that independence comes an uncomfortable distance. I know from my experience I don’t call my mom and dad as much as I should. What makes me think that my mom and dad miss me hold their hands any less than I miss holding my daughters hand? I know I have grown up. Now, instead of running to my dad when I am scared, I am the one that must put on a brave face and tell my daughter everything is going to be okay. Actually, she doesn’t even need me for that much anymore. I sure miss those days.
That got me thinking about God. When I first became a Christian, God was so close. I ran to God for every little thing. I ran to God with every decision, every question, and every worry or doubt. As I grew up I started to understand more of what God liked and didn’t like. I was better able to make decisions based on what I was learning from God. I was growing up. And I think that is okay. We are supposed to grow up and mature. We are supposed to be able to make decisions based on what we have learned and are learning. This is the way it is supposed to be. Eventually I let go of God’s hand. But with that came an uncomfortable distance. I didn’t talk to God much. I didn’t spend much time with God at all.
Maybe that’s you. You used to be really close to God and walked hand in hand with God every day. Maybe something happened in your life that hurt you and in anger you lashed out at God and stopped talking. Maybe you just grew up and let the relationship slip to the sidelines of your life. I don’t know when you stopped holding God’s hand, but I know God misses it.
Wherever you are, whatever you have done, no matter how far you feel you are from God, there is a hand waiting to be held. Reconnect with God this week. Reach out and remember what it is like to be loved and have joy. You might just want to pray a little prayer and get caught up with God on what’s happening in your life. Love is waiting to be held if you will just reach out your hand and let love’s firm grasp find you. While you’re at it, if your parents are still around, give them a call. It will make their day and yours. I promise.