Here’s a delightful story, appropriate for Mothering Sunday, which originally appeared in the Personally Speaking column a little while ago. Worth repeating, adapted slightly. It comes from our friend Penny Curley.
MORNINGS are always a rush for us.
As usual, I was a bit late taking Kathy, four and a half, to school, and Arlo, a couple of years younger than his sister, having to go with us.
It seemed to take ages getting their coats on. To complicate our walk, it was raining and there were several minor roads to cross.
Kathy could negotiate the hazards of the journey perfectly well, of course, but I needed to hold on tightly to the little boy. He was prone to stopping halfway across, or dropping his rabbit en route.
On the day I am remembering, we were about three quarters over, a few feet from the opposite kerb. I was in a hurry and felt Arlo’s feet give way and he tripped.
At that point the weight on my arm was huge and I had to swing him in front of me. A scraped shoe was fortunately the only injury.
It had happened before, as you may imagine, and will very likely happen again. The routine is the same each time: pick him up, put him on his feet and hold him as tightly as previously.
Children do not realise the potential danger, but they readily accept the parent’s protection.
This story serves to illustrate our relationship with God.
There are occasions when he is taking us along and we are rather reluctant to go with him, although we are fully aware that his protection is best.
His grasp is firm, he will never let us go.
A verse from the Psalms puts it this way: ‘I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand’ (73, 23).