touching

"hands are for touching"

  It is 11:45 on a Wednesday, and I am standing at the front door.  A school bus pulls up slowly and let's out its air brakes.  The sound is like a gunshot triggering a race, and after carefully...methodically going down the steps, Isaac's shoes hit the pavement. He's like a racehorse out of the derby gates, and my arms are the finish line. 

We head inside, and as usual, Isaac heads straight for his cars.  I open his backpack, asking him about his day.  "Who did you play with at school?"  "What did you have for snack today?"  As I try and pry answers from him, I pull a few papers from his bag.  Exaggerating my excitement (which, honestly, isn't exaggerating at all) I open a page of a little book he's made.  "Oh my!  This is AMAZING! Whose hand is THIS?"  Isaac smiles and takes the book from me; "Mom, that's MY hand!" 

It's a little booklet he's made about the 5 senses.  The first page is a painted imprint of his hand.  "Hands are for touching" is written below.  We flip through the rough construction paper pages together.  Eyes are for seeing, ears are for listening...

After we browse his creation, he goes back to playing with his cars.  I am left to look at the hand print on the first page once again. 

Hands aren't the only thing made for touching.  In a way, Isaac possesses a 6th sense, one that cannot be colored, or rudimentarily placed with construction paper cut outs in a booklet.  It is in the way he looks me in the eye, because I know it was an impossibility.  It is the way he picks up his toys, because the task seemed out of reach.  It is the way he gives a hug--with his whole being.  It is the way he says "I love you, Mommy," like he's been saying it his whole life...even though I would cry and pray days on end to simply hear those words.  It is the sense that goes beyond description and into the miraculous. 

Hands are for touching, yes, and Isaac has done just that.  He's touched me straight to the heart.