Tonight begins Middle School Moms group at my house. (I know it’s a terribly creative name isn’t it?) As I sit wondering about the moms I’m going to get to know better and the kids I’m going to have the opportunity to pray for this summer, I am reminded of this poem I wrote a couple years ago.
A poem about a little boy who still lives in the world where holding mama’s hand in public is as natural as giggling with his friends.
I have one boy who holds my hand still, but time moves fast, and middle-schoolers love their mama in ways that generally do not include public displays of affection.
But I love them all so much. I love the little boy who cuddles with me on the couch while we watch The Cosby Show, and I love the big ones who sprawl across the couch and floor watching the NBA finals with me, hollering at the refs when they make a bad call.
The Hand Holding Mine
By: Kim Harms
Waiting in the lunch line
Adrift in a sea of children
A little boy’s hand
slips unpretentiously into mine.
Back and forth he swings my arm
All the while
With the classmates surrounding him.
This moment does not dissolve his heart.
The touch of my hand does not cause his eye to tear.
He is simply a little boy
Staking claim to his mama.
But to me it is more.
Those fingers all wrapped up in mine
I am wholly in love
In this brief moment.
Lost in a world
Where smooth little fingers mesh easily with aging hands
And the expression of a son’s love for his mama
Comes as naturally as laughing with his friends.
A world which
Upon a blink and a breath
Will pass from reality