Hold My Hand

Last night, my family of three was driving home from running some errands. My boy had been pretty good, but was getting fussy in his car seat. Ben was driving, and I was sitting in the passenger seat up front. 

I heard a little voice from the back seat. Momma, I really wish you were sitting next to me. Since you're not, would you please hold my hand? 

You know I did. I love that what makes my boy happiest is holding my hand. It makes him feel safe. Like everything is okay. 

I had to stretch my back in some odd ways to keep my hand back there the whole time, but I didn't care. My baby needed a hand to hold. 

So often I am like my two year old. I feel unhappy, upset, insecure. I crave a hand to hold. I want more than anything for someone to reach back, grab my hand, and say "It's going to be alright, child. I've got your hand, and I won't let go. Trust me". I have a savior who not only holds my hand, but holds all of me in his hand. It's so hard for me to grasp this. Maybe because at my core, I always feel a little unsafe. Insecure. When things seem so hard, so out of my control, I question whether or not God's love is enough. I guess this is why childlike faith is so precious to God. 

When my son is comforted by holding his momma's hand, he doesn't question whether or not I'm perfect. He doesn't worry about the bills that scare me. He doesn't fret over the injustices of the world. He simply loves me, and wants to hold my hand. 

I want to be more like my son. I pray I get to a place where when I need comforting, I run to my savior and just ask Him to be there. To give me peace that passes understanding.