Hold you! Carry you!

I have a sweet two-year-old who is just learning to talk.
He is very much a Momma's boy and must be under my feet at all times,
which I adore because he doesn't want to go anywhere without me.

He is also getting to the age where he can start walking next to me when we go in public.
I slightly panic everytime we do this in a parking lot or busy store because I have a tendency to always think of all the dangers that are around.
But so far, it has gone just fine because I hold on real tight when we are out and about.

A few months back, we stood at the bottom of our stairs getting ready to ascend.
He reached upwards with his hands and said,
"Hold you!"
My heart melted.
His 9-year old brother had said the same thing around this age.
And I just love the phrase.

Tonight we stood on the top of the stairs to make our descent.
He reached towards me and said,
"Carry you!"
This time I chuckled.
"I wish!" I quietly muttered and laughed
as I hoisted my sweet-cheeked boy onto my hip.

As I bounced down the stairs,
I felt the voice of God whisper,
"You say that to me, you know."

I tucked that voice away and pondered the message as I mashed our potatoes and heated our peas.
I bathed and rocked and laid the babe down, I reminded the older one to finish his game and take a shower.
And then I paused and
I unpacked that voice.

"Carry you! Hold you!
"You say that to me, you know."

And oh my goodness,
I do!
I pray that
All.
The.
Time.

"LORD! Give me strength to hold on!"
"God! Give me strength to carry this load."
And on and on and on.

And it is always me doing the lifting, and carrying, and holding.
Apparently, even in my prayers, I try to be superwoman.

God brought to my remembrance a verse,
"I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand and say to you, '
Don't be afraid; I will help you.'" Isaiah 41:13
I look again.

I never noticed that before.
"I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand and say to you,
'Don't be afraid; I will help you.'" Isaiah 41:13

God holds my hand.
God holds MY hand.
God holds MY hand.

And it all starts fitting together, like pieces of a puzzle.

When we are in the parking lot or busy store, I am holding CTC's hand.
He is not the one holding on.
I am.
When we are going up the stairs, I am holding onto CTC.
He is not the one holding on.
I am.
When we are coming down the stairs, I am carrying CTC.
He is not the one doing the carrying.
I am.

I sigh.
I always think I am so awesome for holding on to
and helping carry
and for grasping real tight to the hand of God.

But, He has got me so much tighter.
He has me so much stronger.
He can carry me so much farther.

I smile.
I love that CTC thinks he is carrying me.
But, it is not what reality is.
I know that God loves that we think we are carrying our loads.
But, it is not reality.

He holds our hands.
He carries us.

In parking lots,
and busy stores,
and stairs with no gates on them,
I can see dangers that CTC is not even aware of.
So it is with God.

God holds on to us so tight, because he sees all that could hurt us.
He gives us boundaries because he knows the dangers that could beset us.
He holds us
and carries us
and that is how he protects us.

What a Good Father He is.
The best there is.

And I love how two words from my baby boy
can speak to me in unimaginable ways
of how good of a Father
God truly is.