He didn’t even hold my hand.
In fact, if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have linked fingers with me in the first place.
It wasn’t.
I saw his empty hand, and gently looped my finger around his. And he let me.
I didn’t push him. I knew he wasn’t ready for me to close my entire hand around all his tiny fingers. For me, in that moment, linking fingers with him was enough.
–
He was the definition of a child who was difficult to love. Every morning, I had to prepare my heart for responding to him in love, grace, compassion and gentleness… I also had to be on my game at any given moment, just in case he decided to take another swing at my gut as it was one of his favorite pass times.
He was one of the older boys, and he knew how to use his powers to get what he wanted. He laughed when he was punished, and didn’t think twice about bulldozing the littles. When I looked into his face, he mirrored back to me my own sin- my short temper, my fight to defend myself no matter what the cost, my selfishness for thinking I deserved him to listen to me, my pride in wanting him to obey me for me, not for his best interest.
Once he made me so furious, I had to walk out of the room, and collect my angry tears in exasperated prayer to the Lord before I could go back to face him. I kept a record of his wrongs, shorting him of the love that I could have been consistently outpouring onto him. I held his list in my heart, and let my temper flare up with him much quicker than any other children in the daycare.
And yet, in one of my last moments, he sought me out. Despite my shortcomings, he found safety on my lap. As he stared up at the TV, I was overcome with deep love for the little guy, and carefully secured my finger around his, waiting to see if he would withdraw.
He didn’t.
We sat in such a way for a few sweet moments. Moments I cherish above many others from this month, and from the four months preceding this.
It may have seemed a small and pathetic gesture to him, but it meant so much to me.
–
I find myself hesitating to meet with God. I am slow to approach Him, slow to slip into His lap. Heck, I punched Him in the gut five seconds ago. How could I find comfort in His lap after I turn my back on Him so often? And what could I even give to Him? I have nothing left… Nothing to tell Him, and in my pride I reason He has nothing new to say to me, no new perspective to offer. How can I meet with Him, when I know I’m not ready to give my all, and I can’t guarantee I won’t push Him away while He tries to pull me close?
But He invites me endlessly. With His lap empty and His arms wide open, He gently calls me.
Come anyways.
So I drag myself into His lap. I don’t press against His chest, and I hardly let myself touch His legs. I sit in the open space, and don’t even make eye contact with Him.
I know I’ve hurt Him. I know I’m not done hurting Him. Even now, I’m not ready to give Him my all, and I can’t look Him in the eye because I don’t know if I want to receive what He has to offer.
I’m sitting in the lap of God, my Servant and my Master, my Savior and my Lover, my Father and my King, my Lord and my Life, my Redeemer and my Judge, clinging to my pride, my shame, my lies, not ready to surrender my all to the One who has given His all for me.
And He’s not shocked by any of it. He knows where I am.
So instead of forcing me to hold His hand, He gently links His finger into mine.
Sit with me until you’re ready for more. You can’t want me when you are apart from me. But you can let me fill you with more desire for me. Hold my finger, and just be.
Eventually, He’ll begin to hold two fingers, then four, then my whole hand. He’ll move my head to lean against His chest and hear His heartbeat, He’ll slowly begin to ask me questions, He’ll encourage me, He’ll reprimand me lovingly. He’ll lift me to stand on my feet, and begin to teach me how to walk again. He’ll take His steps slowly and meticulously beside me, and teach me how to walk on His path once more.
And as I continue to walk beside Him, I can lengthen my steps to match a bigger stride of faith.
Sometimes, I get carried away again. Sometimes I forget, and I run. Sometimes, I turn around and punch His gut again.
Always, He sits down right where we are, invites me to join Him, links His finger in mine, and we start the process all over again.
Praise the God of grace, patience, compassion, and love, who will never let our sin get in His way of calling us His own!
The Lord makes firm the steps of those who delight in Him,
Though they stumble, they will not fall,
For the Lord upholds them with His hand.
Psalm 37:23-24
