Taking God’s hand

When I was a child, we lived only a short distance from the office building on Main Street where my dad worked. For exercise he frequently walked to and from work. I can see him now, taking long strides toward Main Street as he left the house in the mornings. He always came home in the afternoon at the same time, so I would watch for him and go running down the sidewalk to meet him, not just for the little treat (a piece of candy or gum) he always had for me in his coat pocket, but mostly for the love I felt when he took my hand and slowed down his pace to meet mine.

One day something unexpected happened. My dad passed on. I was still a child, barely 14 to be exact. Feeling lost, I struggled with grief and missing him for many years. 

Then as an adult, I faced a crisis I could not handle alone. I was married with two young children when I found out that my husband was unfaithful to me. Having grown up in a Christian Sunday School, I had always had a deep trust in God. And at this point I turned to God in prayer, asking Him to show me the way I should go.

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January 10, 2011

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