Every school morning, Andrew, my grandson and I walk down our winding tree lined drive to catch the school bus. It’s a ritual which I feel honoured to have a part in. Soon these moments will be gone. They are like a reprieve given to me from another time and an earlier set of children of my own.
As a grandmother, when I hold Andrew’s hand, I always unconsciously hold his right hand as we gaily go down the drive reciting our verses. I think how the Lord holds my hand, my right hand.
The left hand of the one in authority seems to be the drawing out, sheltering, leading hand. We seem to be easier led when our right hand is held. It seems more comforting. It is more solid. It seems easier not to stumble. I hope I am that hand for Andrew and the rest of my beautiful lively gifts.
Early in the morning, before the day even was, God has control and none can loosen the grasp He has on me, nor take me from His hand. How amazing God’s word is at showing us even the smallest nuances of our lives. Little bits we don’t even think about. Little bits which are really too vast to think about but with which we are so vitally and deeply connected.
Because Andrew is still small he allows me to walk holding his right hand. Walking along the path of our drive with my hand in his and His hand in mine, I hope that Andrew will willingly transfer his hand into the hand of the Almighty along his life’s pathway.
Hope is an interesting thing. On this bright morning, it brings flashes of light so I can see those deep places of my spirit and my interconnectedness with God my Creator. A connectedness not just between myself and God, but from generation to generation, handing down the wisdom, the protection the true Spirit of God from left hand to receiving right hand.
I ponder the verse in Isaiah 44:3a: for I will pour water on him who is thirsty, floods on the dry ground; I will pour My Spirit on your descendants, and my blessings on your offspring. They will spring up among the grass. Like willows by the water courses. One will say I am the Lord’s. Another will call himself by the name of Jacob. Another will write with his hand The Lord’s and name himself by the name of Israel (which means you have struggled with God and with Man and have prevailed.)
From the hand of my Heavenly father’s to my father’s hand. My father’s to my hand; my hand to my children and grandchildren. What a heritage!
And it is coming to pass! Before my eyes!
I see the left hand of my father. It is gnarled with hard work age and pain. In it he holds the right hand of his great grandson, my grandson. I am sure Dad’s right hand is nestled in his Father’s hand. I know my hand is. And we hold out ours towards a heritage to wonderful to fathom. What a picture! What a heritage and gift.
Today is Dad’s 82 nd birthday, and I am watching God’s promises come true.
Is 41:13 For I the Lord your God will hold your right hand, saying to you,” Fear not, I will help you.”
Is 43:13: Indeed before the days was, I am He, and there is no one who can deliver out of my hand . I work and who will reverse it?
