Grasp

I remember his tiny fingers, all tightly curled around my one; the instinct of infancy, the comfort reflex.

He held on because he didn’t know how not to hold on.
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A year and a few months on, he toddles towards the door excitedly, then daunted by the new faces he retreats – grasps my hand tightly and hides behind my legs.

The fear of the new prompted him to grasp onto the familiar.
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Today he chatters while we play at picnics, relaxing on his Big Bed, sitting on the monkey-patterned blanket, eating invisible food together. He stops, looks deadly serious and takes my hand in his.

“Thank you”, he says. I am flattered, but confused.
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
He takes my hand again, grasps it more firmly.
“Thank you,” he says. “Grace.”
I suddenly make the connection.

“Lord Jesus, thank you for this food and this fun game. Amen.”

I ponder the different ways that my boy has grasped my hand over these few years, the different motivations, but the same feeling of joy and love I have for him each time. Instinct; fear; thankfulness, friendship.

I think of the ways that I grasp onto God and the different motivations I have, and thank God that I not only take hold of God but He takes hold of me.

Over to you:

• What are the different motivations for grasping hold of God that you have seen in your life?

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