when words are few, one who isn't-quite-yet-two must pull his mama to whatever has piqued his interest.
and so i come, trying to memorize the feel of his tiny hand in my own as i try to decipher what it is that has given cause for such loud proclamations.
and i wonder...
where will his hands take him?
will his hands lead him to build or to write?
whose hand will his find to grasp through young love to old age?
how many babies will his hands cradle, will he rock to sleep with their heads pressed close to his heart beat?
will his hands raise in worship of the One Who created him, or will his hands raise in clenched fists?
and that is where i pause...
because our example affects not just the generation after us, but the future generations of all of our children...
what needs to be broken so that those after us can walk in freedom and in His Light?
and on a day where there are so many who find themselves fatherless, i am reminded how blessed i am to have a husband who longs to be present in our children's lives. to love them and to show them Jesus.
and his tiny hands, traced on white paper bear the mark of hope.
of change.
so i continue to hold them.
continue to pray to be led,
so they can find freedom.
