The Touch Of A Hand
In church last Sunday, I felt a very light touch on the back of my hair. Wondering what was touching my hair, I suddenly realized it was my almost 3-year-old granddaughter, who was ever so carefully using one tiny finger to gently go from about the middle of my hair to the end of the strands. And then I smiled as I heard her whisper to her mother, "Mom, I touched her hair!"
My mind marveled at how much love a little girl's soft touch could bring to me and how she was so careful not to let it be more than fleeting.
A bit later in the service, I had turned sideways a little and saw this same...