When we were at the store today, Daniel noticed a mark on my arm.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Oh, I burned myself,” I told him. “I accidentally touched my arm to the hot cookie sheet when I was baking yesterday. It looks funny, but it really doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Daniel studied the spot and then touched it, ever so gently with the tips of his fingertips. In his soft touch there was such care, such concern, such genuine love and hope for healing that even an older lady standing nearby noticed it.
She gave me a knowing smile and I smiled back. Because what the two of us saw and felt in that tiny touch was real.
My boy might not always show me such tender care, but today he does. And I am holding onto that. Real tight.