Like A Little Child

When Keegan, my oldest, was little, he was the king of adorable baby talk.  There was "strawbabies" for strawberries.  "Crash can" for trash can.  And my favorite, the basketball "hoot" for that hoop he couldn't quite seem to successfully locate with his tiny, foam ball.

And then there was this. 

"Hold your Keegy, Daddy."

Ahhhhhh.  It melted my heart every time to see the tiny person version of his father standing on the tops of his dad's feet, arms stretched up over his head.  And then that sweet command.

"Hold your Keegy, Daddy."

I loved it. 

I loved his confidence, the certainty with which he knew what would happen next.  His dad was about to look down, smile, bend over, engulf him in a huge embrace, and pick him up to nestle him into his shoulder. 

He was confident because it happened every single time.  Something in his little boy heart knew a good father can not resist those words, that entreaty.  His father couldn't ignore the profound request behind those four small words. 

I need you.

I trust you.

I want to be close to your heart.

They make sense coming from a child.  But, somewhere in the growing up and the getting tough, it's easy to believe we are to put the baby talk behind us and to grow beyond the need of being held.

And so it happened today, when I found my mind stuck in a painful loop, that I was stunned for the Lord to whisper to my heart that I can say those same words.  The reminder came sweetly, through the words of a song I knew twenty years ago.

Hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf,

You have been my King of Glory,

Won't you be my Prince of Peace.

(by Rich Mullins)

And I stretch my arms to the heavens and tip my head to the sky.

"Hold your Mindy, Daddy."