Touch of Love

Today, for whatever reason, I began thinking about the varying movements and touches of my three children. In watching each one, I realized what a story or truth their actions and touches tell about them and about love.

 My eldest is my thinker. When he touches something, it is slow and deliberate because his mind is working over what he has laid his fingers on. He is always turning things over and dismantling in an attempt to see how something works. In the grocery store today, he touched nearly everything at his height in the aisles, no doubt pondering whether he would like each item. He eats with slow motions and relishes every bite, lost in thought. He is only fast when he is frustrated, and his hugs are like his thoughts, deep and meaningful.

 My middle child is always speeding through life. Her hands graze swiftly over everything. If she touches something, it is most likely to lay claim to it. She seeks touch with complete abandon. Her movements are endless, constant. At meals, she handles all of her food repeatedly, and her hugs are deliciously fierce and consuming, like crashes of tightly wound energy, much like she is.

 My youngest child is more delicate. She touches to explore, but very tentatively. She eats with a measured calm. And perhaps it is still her age, but she seeks out hugs for reassurance. She snuggles and relaxes, showing that she has found the respite and comfort she was looking for in that moment. A hug from this child feels like coming home.

 In them I see what love can and should be, deep and thoughtful, constant and intense, safe and comfortable. It is all of these things at once, because this is how God loves us.