Touch

Little feet thump through the grass. The small jacket brushes with the weeds, gathering raindrops. A little voice chatters on. And then, there is silence, as little fingers reach out in wonder to touch.

What so captivates a child that those tiny fingers are compelled to reach out from itself and touch?

It is a flower.
A leaf.
A cat.
A friendly hand.

It could be anything.

But it doesn't always stay like that. Those little fingers reach for bad things sometimes. And, as the child grows up, they begin to learn that some things will hurt if they touch them. Hot things, sharp things, biting things. Things that bring tears.

And so we cease to touch for fear of pain.

My own hands have touched a great deal of painful things. For years, the child locked inside had ceased to reach forward, for fear of the pain. I've reached forward and trembled as I've done so, fearing.

But this I have learned.

Whenever I stretch out my hands to touch something or someone else in pain, I am never sorry.
When I take hold of a promise, I never regret it.
And, when I reach out to touch things merely in wonder, like a little child, I find a beauty in life unbegotten in any other way.

You never know what a simple touch can do.