On Christmas Eve of 2017 I was holding my granddaughter, Adaline.
I looked down and saw her tiny hand now resting in mine…mine now beginning to show the signs of fifty eight years.
A family member with a camera was nearby and I asked them to frame a shot of our hands.
Even as I sat holding Adaline with her hand in mine, I began to see the days to come.
My future…her future…was very present in my mind.
I could see her tiny hand holding an object on her own for the first time…and wondered what that object would be.
I could see her hand tightly gripping her mama and daddy’s hand as she walked toward her school on her first day.
I could see her hand holding the hand of a boy for the first time, not knowing when to let go…not wanting to let go.
I could see her hand wiping away the tears of a friend who had experienced a broken heart.
I could see her hand being given away by her daddy to a man she would spend the rest of her life with, and he taking that same hand in marriage.
I could see her hand one day holding the hand of her husband and of her own children as they prayed for God to watch over them during the night.
And I could see her hand somewhere in the future, once again holding mine…mine then aged, feeble, with only moments of life left in it’s grip…as she said good-bye to me one last time.
I hold them close.
In my heart.
In my hand.