Held

I wonder if you are the sort of person who likes to receive warm hugs. I can appreciate some people are not – and it is important to respect any boundaries they choose to have in place. Perhaps they are shy. Perhaps they may feel they do not know us well enough. Perhaps they have been hurt in the past in some way that makes it difficult for them now to hold or be held by others.

On the other hand, over the years, I have met with several women for whom this was an essential part of our time together. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the long, warm hug before they left was equally as healing and affirming for them as all the words I might have spoken throughout the one or two hours we met.

It can be a wonderful experience too when we see a friend or family member again after a long absence and can hold them close. And I find those warm hugs from our grandchildren when they arrive for a visit priceless too – especially those from our grandson who may appear aloof at times yet underneath has such a warm, caring heart. Those arms around us tell us the other person is pleased to see us again, that they love us and that they value our presence in their lives.

Imagine then being held close by the God of the universe! Imagine what that tells us about God’s heart of love for each one of us, about the value God places on us and about God’s deep desire to care for us and do life with us in general. I sat and pondered all this recently, after listening to an online devotional that focused on Moses’ words to the Israelites, reminding them how God led them on from Mt Horeb, through the desert and right to the edge of the Promised Land and how he himself as their leader had responded when they refused to enter:

Then I said to you, ‘Do not be terrified; do not be afraid of them. The Lord your God, who is going before you, will fight for you, as he did for you in Egypt, before your very eyes, and in the wilderness. There you saw how the Lord your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place.’ Deuteronomy 1:29–31

Just as God carried those Israelites long ago, as a father would carry his child, so God still lovingly longs to carry each of us today, holding us close, protecting and providing for us. As I reflected on this beautiful image, I remembered too a small, cardboard plaque that hung on my bedroom wall as a child and that I always particularly liked, even though I did not fully understand what the words meant back then:

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Deuteronomy 33:27

Whenever life overwhelms me, I am so grateful that, as God’s child, I can run to my heavenly Father, receive his warm hug and be held close in those loving arms that will always be there for me. And right now, whatever is happening for you, may you truly sense God’s loving arms holding you close too.

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Kids or adults?

We sat on our kitchen floor together, nail polish and cotton wool balls nearby. As a holiday activity, our granddaughter Maxine had decided to paint her grandmother’s toenails—so who was I to complain? It is something I rarely get around to doing, after all. Besides, I knew Maxine would have watched her beauty therapist mum do it many times. And if the end result did not turn out well, then there was always that bottle of nail polish remover in the cupboard!

‘Do you give massages too like Mummy does, Maxine?’ my husband asked at one stage.

‘No,’ she responded, with a decided shake of her head. ‘They’re not my thing. Nails are my thing!’

I tried not to laugh out loud, even though Maxine’s response was something I would have expected from someone at least ten years older than the eight-year-old sitting in front of me and holding my feet so gently.

In the end, she did an excellent job. But around a week later, I saw again how good Maxine can be at sounding so much older than her years, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

‘So … who is your new teacher this year?’ I asked her as we picked her brother and her up during the first week of school to mind them for the afternoon.

‘It’s Mr A ….!’ she told us in pleased voice. ‘This is the first man teacher I’ve had in my life!’

Again, I tried not to laugh. After all, Maxine has not had any vast experience of teachers, male or female, being only in Year Four. Once again, she had sounded so much older than her eight years to me.

That same day at home, however, I watched as Maxine went from one fun activity to another as any eight-year-old would. She bounced away on the trampoline. She rode her scooter. She revelled in playing hide-and-seek. She watched a kids’ TV show. And she responded as probably many other competitive eight-year-olds would too by flouncing away and refusing to play when her older brother beat her at a particularly annoying board game! Yep, one minute Maxine can act like an adult but at another definitely like any little, eight-year-old girl.

Later, I began to wonder how many ‘grown-ups’, myself included, seem quite able to do the very opposite of what Maxine does. Rather than acting like adults, we can end up behaving much more like babies on occasions. If things don’t happen to go my way in life, I can sometimes rant and rave for quite a while—well, at least inwardly if not outwardly! And I can easily settle for functioning like a child as far as the things of God are concerned too. Rather than displaying the maturity I should have by this stage, I can act like those early believers who still preferred milk rather than the solid food needed to help them become firmer in their faith (Hebrews 5:11-12).

In 2023, I want to grow even more in my faith, don’t you? Yes, as children of God, it’s important to hold onto our childlike trust in our heavenly Father, but let’s seek to become the mature adult believers we are called to be too.

But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 2 Peter 3:18

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That special date

My husband started a certain family tradition many years ago when our three children were young. One by one, he would take them out for a special dinner date. The chosen venue was never anywhere too expensive—when we lived in Adelaide, a favourite haunt was a pancake place called ‘Bertie’s’, which the children all thought was wonderful, considering their dad’s students often called him ‘Dr Bertie’ at that time! Yet whatever the venue, whichever child whose turn it was would dress up in their best clothes and feel so important, as they headed off on their ‘date’ with Dad.

In more recent years, my husband has continued this tradition with our four grandchildren. Sometimes, the chosen venues have been truly exotic—venues such as … um … er … Maccas! But currently, our two younger grandchildren love a certain café near the Nepean River at Penrith that serves extremely tantalising drinks, donuts and desserts. And, since the meal is their choice, this is what they get!

Recently it was eight-year-old Maxine’s turn to go out with her eighty-one-year-old Granddad. When he asked her, her response was, ‘Ooh, I’m going out on a date!’ Great excitement ensued—along with the satisfying thought that her brother would be ‘sooo jealous’!

The evening duly arrived—and yes, Maxine chose that favourite café by the river and that favourite milk shake for dinner, with a big donut perched on top of the container and a straw threaded through the hole into her drink. As well, she was allowed the important task of ordering the food herself and paying for it with her granddad’s credit card, while he watched on.

In my own growing up years, my times with my grandfather definitely did not involve dining out at cafes. Instead, we would often go walking on a Sunday afternoon when he and my grandmother would come for a visit. In my mind, I can still see his white hair and his erect figure, as we strode along and chatted. One of our favourite places to walk was, believe it or not, to the Toowong Cemetery, not far from our home in Brisbane. We would comment about all sorts of things we saw on gravestones there and I’m sure he sought to impart much wisdom to me during those times.

I am not saying God is some grandfatherly figure, sitting on a throne in the sky, smiling and nodding benignly. But I would like to suggest that God’s heart is to invite each one of us on a ‘date’—that is, a time when we put other things aside in our lives and, instead, delight in simply being with our heavenly Father. When we do, we find God has a wonderful feast laid out there for us. And there is such joy too in simply being together with God, knowing we are loved and accepted completely, just as we are.

But you would be fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock I would satisfy you. Psalm 81:16

Why would we ignore those special ‘dates’ or times with God? Why would we ever stand God up, so to speak? Instead, let’s turn up—often. Let’s accept God’s invitation. And let’s drink deeply from all the love and wisdom God showers on us as we do.

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Hearing our name

I wonder if you like the sound of your name. Perhaps it depends on who is saying it or the context in which it is being said! If it’s someone such as a cross schoolteacher singling you out for some misdemeanour, as I well remember happening to me, your name might grate on you a little. But if it’s a good friend greeting you after not seeing or hearing from you for some time, then that might be a different matter.

I look forward to hearing my name spoken whenever I call a dear older friend. ‘Hello, Jo-Anne—how lovely to hear your voice! How are you?’ she always says, with such unfeigned joy and delight that my heart feels as if it is melting. And I remember how, many years ago, a young minister at our church went to the trouble of asking me whether I preferred to be called ‘Jo’ or ‘Jo-Anne’. Now I don’t really mind being called ‘Jo’—after all, that is what my husband and almost everyone else has called me for years! But I told him I preferred ‘Jo-Anne’, because it seems just that bit softer and more feminine to me. From then on, he tried hard to remember to call me that. And when he did, I was touched and felt respected.

I thought of this again recently when I read the story of the resurrection in John 20. As I often try to do, I imagined myself right in the middle of that scene at the tomb when Mary Magdalene discovers Jesus is no longer there. She is devastated because she believes someone has taken his body and, in her distress, does not immediately recognise Jesus when he speaks to her. But what a moment that must have been when she hears him say that one word that must have said so much to her—Mary (20:16)! Can you imagine it?

I wonder what tone of voice Jesus used when he said her name. Was it soft and tender? Was it loud and commanding, concerned to make her realise who he actually was? Did it convey joy and delight that she had come, wanting to attend to his body? Did it show something of his pride in her that she was faithful to the end? Perhaps it conveyed trust as well, because as soon as Mary realises who he is, Jesus goes on to give her a message for the other disciples:

Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” John 20:17

One thing I know for sure. Jesus spoke Mary’s name with amazing love. And today, two thousand years later, Jesus continues to speak our names with that same love, calling us back into relationship with our heavenly Father and into his own family, the family of God. How privileged we are that he knows our names and that we too can hear our Shepherd’s voice, speaking to us by his Spirit, guiding and strengthening us day by day!

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. John 10:27-28

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