I love that he knows I’m here for him. My 5…almost 6-year-old son knows it even if he doesn’t realize he knows it.

Anytime we walk together — across a parking lot, in the mall, to his class at school, around the lake — I only have to open my hand as we walk and he automatically reaches for mine. It’s as though he senses when my hand is reaching for his…to guide his steps, to keep him from danger, or just to feel his hand in mine.

I want my relationship with God to be like that. I want always to be aware of His presence and reach for His hand, to always sense He is here to help me along. I want to remember to reach for Him when I fear or when I sense danger, or when I’m lonely. Or when I am hurt. Or when I am lost. Or when chaos seeks to govern my consciousness.

But I forget. Time and again, I forget….and yet, once I snap out of my mental meanderings, I do not need to run after Jesus, catch up to Him. He is not ahead of me; He is still beside me, still reaching for my hand…waiting patiently for me to reach for His…

He can't NOT smile, this one.

Our 5-year-old fell at recess last week, severely scraping his face on the pavement. The school nurse called to tell me about it and said he was okay. When I picked him up after school, his brown eyes became pools of tears that refused to fall until his blink forced them to, and after a long hug, he was good to go. It looked painful. I wished I had been there to hold him when it happened, to be the immediate source of comfort he automatically sought.

Oh, those human limitations! I am thankful beyond expression that God uses our children to teach me so much.

My humble prayer is that, though our children may outgrow the need to reach for my hand, they will instinctively reach for the capable hands of Him who does all things well.

© Alexa Lopez, 2009