Touches

I thought about sharing some of my own thankfulness journal with you a few days ago, on a Friday. But I pushed it aside. I climbed onto my bed, kid’s tucked in bed and contemplated what to do with my free time now. Journal? maybe. Read? I haven’t picked up His book all week. First I will do some things online. Took care of some business, started a quick post about (104) earlier this evening, cleaned out my email box. Replied to a few, downloaded (105) some homeschooling materials. Then read. Was stopped short actually. It’s alright that I didn’t come to him. (106) He came to me. Right out of the archives. And the tears ran down. (107) Turned into sobs. Are still threatening to stay long enough to leave thier proof in the morning.

Was it the thought of him that broke me? or reading words that echo my own voice? from the past? now?

I try to keep this in mind. Touch. His daddy needs it. This little apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. (108) He taught me as an infant. While rocking him to sleep he reaches up to my mouth. I kiss it, over and over. He grunts delight through his binky. Every night. (110)A 2 year old’s most frequent sentence “hold you?”. And now, almost 5. He senses frustration, a consequence coming, or my own stress. He comes in hugs, (111) abundant hugs.

We hug at bed. After repentence and forgiveness. First thing in the morning. I have been working on replying “yes” to a request for cuddles, a needed hug. Whatever I am doing. Stop and …

STOP. I have to stop. Cause…

I see the gift. Right now. (112) A gift just walked through my door. I see the moment for what it is. A second chance. God stirred him from sleep. His hand hurt, it was asleep. He came seeking comfort. The lights go down low. I help him onto my lap. My full lap. But he can fit. (113) Baby squirms beneath him. Two embraces at a time. I rub in circles. I remember him as an infant, skin to skin bonding. Sliding my hand under the back of his shirt I rub. Massage shoulders. Run my fingers up through the curls. Over and over again. He relaxes into me. Breathes deep and heavy. (114) Sighs.

My second chance. God saying, “Don’t cry over days not taken advantage of. There is still time. There is now. There is tomorrow. And another.” Maybe 1000 more tomorrow’s to touch. To build a foundation of reassurance. Revival. Relaxation into love. A foundation for the future. For the day when he will give another women the opportunity to give these things first. A foundation that prepares the heart to always accept these gifts from me. Even as a man. Run my fingers through his hair. Rest my chin on his shoulder. Hold his hand, in public.

I know deep somewhere that a day will come when I long so badly to have moments, just like these. (115) 40 something pounds of weight against my chest. (115) Curls tickling my nose. Body lifeless in sleep in my arms. In trust. (117) Soft forehead skin agianst my lips. The littleness coming to recieve gifts. The best part? knowing he will recieve them. Isn’t that what He is teaching me? Confidence that He is giving gifts. Good ones. Always. And (118) He models what I am to do. Until this boy learns how to recieve the gifts himself from his Father.

I am so grateful. For this special interruption. Two really. But I am longing. For more. Addicted. Completely addicted.

He moves restless to change positions. I stand. Careful to not pull a ever expanding stomach muscle. I look in the mirror at (119) his sleeping face on my shoulder. His eyes crack open and catch me, smiling. (120) He smiles, wraps his arms around my neck. Sighs. I carry him back to bed. Then he stirs enough to collect (121) one more kiss, (122) one more hug. One more touch.

holy experience

By: Heidi Watters

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