Greater Love Hath No Man Than This

To most people this is some scrawl on a piece of 'Hello Kitty' paper, and to most people this is inconsequential. 

The Twins Aculae turned five recently, one of those early milestone birthdays through which children properly pass from toddlerdom to child-dom! The fact that both of my children appear to be taking their genetic makeup from the Masai Tribe is neither here nor there. But they are now, officially, Big Girls. 

You 'hear' me waffle on about my work a lot, and under-pinning much of that is this crew of the wondrous that share this house with me. If you have read this blog for a long time will know how amazing I find my children, and how enraptured I am by the beauty of their growth and development. 

Now it is fair to say that I can count the Ts A as gobby cows with attitude. They show me no respect, are rude to the missis, maul the moggie, crap-up the crib, drop things on the floor without a passing care for my poor back (not that I do any of that stuff, I have a very capable woman for all that tidying and cleaning lark), and act their age not their shoe size - all very difficult stuff. Blessed may it be, for all of that. 

I once pondered their growing hands in this post two-odd years ago. I often wonder how they will grow, into what kinds of people. The picture is the recent and much treasured work of one of those pairs of hands - as scrawl starts to take form, vocabulary increases, splodgy pictures become identifiable things and sense can be made of what must the plethora of thoughts that hitherto could only be expressed through squeal and tantrum. 

Now I am pretty sure that none of you really want to sit here and read how much I love my daughters (and thank you for getting to this point). What you can see was left on my desk one day recently and has fast become my treasured possession. It strikes me that posts about funeral words, utterances about loneliness in ministry, and all other grumps and wheezes that proceed from this keyboard - they all contingent upon what is pure and real. This note is a symbol for me of absolute hope in the world created by God. 

By the way, she is left-handed and writes backwards so you need to read it from the other end to see what she says. Game, set and match - perfect love. 

The Beauty of Hands

I was sitting looking at my daughter's hands today. They were in mine, as she sat and watched a cherished 'Mr Tumble' TV programme - so I had chance, once again, to have a good look. 

I have been fascinated by the girls' hands since they were born. In the first days and weeks, they were the grasping, indiscriminate things with fingers flicking in all directions and none (this picture is of one such hand at one such time). They were hands that had no co-ordination beyond the instinctive, no ability to hold in any meaningful way, no ability to manipulate or control. I remember thinking then how it is another miracle of nature that such hands can develop into dextrous tools - the mark of humanity in many ways. 

Hands are, to me at least, central to my ministry. I use them in the sacred moments of consecration; I can give peace to someone who is ill-at-ease, just with a touch; in many ways I can weave stories and spells that mesmerise some of the children in my ministerial care; I can offer a greeting (one hand if you are 'alright', two if I really like you). I also believe (counter-culturally) that touch is the most soothing, reassuring, human thing that I can do, and appropriate with adults and children. Yes, there are protocols, but so are there for everything. 

With this in mind, I found myself rapt by these little hands. They are pretty adept at what life requires of them, but they are also gifted in comforting and soothing. Jessica and Rebekah have learned that even though they are still two years old, a stroke of the face is a healing thing. They have learned that a hand held is reassuring, offering safety and protection. They have learned that hands can beautify - they play with one another's hair, decorating it with clips and other such adornments (before moving on to mine). Yes, they also know how easily an index finger reaches to those places in the nose that a crayon cannot reach. Yes, they know that a hit will hurt. 

I stare wonderingly both in the present joy that those little hands give, and also at the vast potential that lays in them. I have no wish for them beyond being happy in this life, but I find myself pondering what those little mitts will achieve in their days. Will they be the hands that pens a world-class novel or an earth shattering symphony? Will they be hands that heal? Will they be hands that can suspend pain and tears? Will they be hands become capable of creating music that is so beautiful it is crippling? I even wonder if the vagueries of life will mean that they have to become hands that kill to prectect? If I miss a trick as a parent, will they be the hands that adminsiters the next fix? If eyes are the window to the soul, then hands are surely the front-door. The goodness that is innate in my children (even beyond any control that I can claim to have had) is manifest in their tenderness, in their readiness to heal (even now). They are so small, so perfectly formed, and yet so powerful that they can overwhelm me. In the years that I hope and pray are granted me to do so, I will watch avidly as those four little hands acquire new skills - all the while praying that they retain the perfect silent meaningful power that they already have.