The Hand of Another

If you spend any time with me, you will know that I’m pretty straight forward.
What you see is what you get…

Some people think this is a good thing…
Some don’t.

But, there are two things about me that everyone should probably know…

1. Large flocks of birds freak me out…
and
2. I hate the mall…

Yeah, I know…
Maybe this isn’t something I should waste my energy on but…
I hate the mall…
it’s not like a deep-seated hate or anything…
just the average, “If you see me there call the police because I’ve been forced there against my will” kind of hate.

I don’t even really know why.
Crowds don’t freak me out and I don’t have a problem with shopping.
There’s just something about the mall that makes my shoulders tense up and my head start hurting…

I can’t even explain it… I just hate it.

I have a very vivid memory of being a small child and walking through the mall holding hands with my dad.

I always felt safe with him.

He is 6’2″ and to a little kid that seems gigantic…
I just always knew he would take care of me; I never questioned it.

As we were walking hand in hand I suddenly got distracted and removed my tiny hand from the giants grasp.  It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes and then right back up my hand went, slipping it into the open hand that I had removed it from.

Or so I thought…

Turns out it wasn’t my dads hand…
In fact, I didn’t know who this person was and they didn’t seem to mind trying to walk out of the mall with me in tow!

Luckily for me – my dad saw the entire thing happen – safe and sound I was once again…

But, isn’t it just that easy…
We walk, safely, with our father…
The one we know will always be there to protect us and keep us from harm.

Then, distractions come.
They steal our focus and our attention and draw us into something else…
Something shiny,
Something new,
Something seemingly beautiful…

And then,
Without even realizing it…
We are holding hands with someone else and being led away from our protector.

We find ourselves in a place of hate.
A place we never thought we would be…
And we realize just how easy it was to get there – and how hard it is to get out…

And for a split second… We think we are alone

Lost.

But, our father is watching.
Never taking His eyes off of us.

The hands that healed the blind and helped the lame to rise up and walk again.
The hands that flipped tables in anger because the temple had become something it wasn’t intended to be.
The hands that took the nails so He could hang on a tree…for us…for our mistakes…

Those hands…
Those beautifully scarred hands…
Are ready for us to reach back up and take hold of.

Once again, safe and sound.

We don’t have to be lost.
But sometimes we chose to be.

Let’s run back to the guiding hand of the father.
The one who knows who we are and where we need to go.
Let’s trust His leading before we distractedly place our trust in the hand of another.

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