Hold my hand,Father

When I was a little boy, I loved to hold my father's hands. I looked forward to watching movies with my father on Sunday. His hands would hold my little hand and I would follow him without any care or concern. My fingers would play with large veins flowing from the knuckles in his hand, because they protruded out and I could move them around. I would feel peaceful and secure in his love. Sometimes he would let go of my hand to buy something. This made me feel a little lost but then he would come back and hold my little hand again and I would be happy.

I would ask him anything that I came across, Why is the man so short? When is the show starting? Why are the clouds so dark? not so much because I wanted to know, but to have a closer relationship with my father and to lay all my fears on him. Some of the things I asked, I understood, other questions were plain silly, but it did not matter to me, my father would answer me because I am his son and he loves me. I did not worry whether my questions were stupid because I was content and secure in his love. After the movie ended, I would feel sad because it was time to go home, but I would wait with great hope, the next Sunday .

As I grew up, my father asked why I stopped asking questions saying, you used to ask me about everything. Now are you are so quite. "I guess time, knowledge and society had made me self-sufficent. After ten years of western education and culture, it had drummed into me the consciousness that I must be strong willed, independent, holding my own hand and leading my own destiny. Yet over be humble, you will be the greatest " began to dwell in me from time to time.

Then this imagery of my childhood, holding my father's hand, came to me while I was trying to sleep one night. The thought just came out of the blue, but it has rekindled memories of innocence, before I knew how to spell and pronounce sex, money and power.

So When I approach God, I will drag this memory from the back of my consciousness, and imagine myself holding God's hands, playing with his protruding veins, laying all my burdens on him and asking him again and again about anything and everything, feeling sage and secure in his love.

Author: Ho Wong Hong