little hands

With that "paci" in her mouth, Amber has the power to leap walls, ward off toy-snatchers, and participate in the after-fellowship ritual of runner rolling-up.

Duncan needs no accoutrements. He brings only bare muscle and the fierceness of two-year old determination.

For months now, these two have been my escorts to and from my car on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. Duncan will not permit me to carry my own Bible. "I do it," he states in a tone that permits no discussion. When he reaches for the handle of my blue Bible cover, Amber--always at his side--pops in her power-propelling-pacifier and reaches for my purse. "I do it." And so we walk together. Flanked by my two small guards, I fear nothing.

"You're so strong!" I always tell them. "What good helpers!" Two turns into twelve overnight, and twelve-year olds are not always as quick to reach for what needs carrying. I want my voice to linger long in their memories.

So when I turned around a few Sundays ago and saw the twins kneeling beside Van, who had set his own dignity aside in the name of service and was crawling along behind a growing roll of floor runner, I gave them my usual pep talk. "Look how strong you two are! What good helpers!"

Behind her pacifier, Amber grinned. I think Duncan heard me. He was just too busy imitating Van to let me know.

Little hands grow fast. Father, cause them soon to reach for You.