Carry Me!

A young man walked by carrying his little girl. She sat perched on his elbow and forearm, her sandaled feet dangling in rhythm to his steps. Her right arm rested comfortably around his neck as she used her left hand to point out those things that she wanted to share with her daddy. Her face was next to his making it easy for either of them to plant a kiss on the other at any given moment.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when all you see are kneecaps passing by. “Daddy, carry me.” That’s all it took to be swept up from a two-foot-six-inch vantage point to being able to view the world from what seemed to be a mountaintop. Instead of trying to hurry and catch up, suddenly I was effortlessly keeping stride with the crowd. I was being carried. I was safe in Daddy’s arms. I was seeing the world as he saw it. I could squeeze his neck just as hard as I wanted to and feel his strong arms hold me close.

I remember my mom carrying me to bed and telling me stories and tucking me in, saying our prayers at night. I don’t actually remember, but I am sure she carried me on her hip as she fixed dinner or washed the dishes. She carried me when I was tired of walking. She carried me when I cried and needed comfort. I loved to be carried. I loved the security of being held close. I love being loved.

I loved holding my kids, rocking them to sleep, and carrying them in my arms and on my hip. I loved their softness, their scent, the way they fit so snugly in my arms, the way they hugged me as we walked along. I loved holding each of them, in turn, and carrying them until little by little, they didn’t need to be rocked, or carried, or eventually, held on my lap anymore. It was a gradual process and as one got too big to be carried, there was another to take his place, and another. And then there were none.

I miss seeing the newborn baby in his mother’s arms as she pulls back the blanket to show you the cute outfit the child is wearing today. Or the new dad, still a little insecure about how to hold this new life in his strong arms, proudly displaying this little girl who stole his heart so quickly. I miss hearing, “Here, would you like to hold her?” Instead, Mom pushes back the sun visor to show that precious baby scrunched down with its head cocked to the side, harnessed in securely and swinging just a few inches from the ground in a ‘safe’ piece of equipment. Babies now spend hours and hours in this ‘touch-free’ environment.

Does that bother you at all? Or is it just me? Perhaps it’s only because I loved that closeness so very much—as a child and as a parent.

It occurs to me that I have not been carried by anyone now for many years. Granted, it would be a little strange and incredibly awkward. Nor have I carried my children for many years. Again, strange and awkward. But I miss that, don’t you?

I suppose the next time I am carried—a very long time from now, I hope—it will take six men to do the job. I won’t feel the closeness or the comfort. I won’t feel anything at all. That’s incredibly strange and awkward!

However, I will be watching from a mountain top view, carried in the arms of the One who loves me the most. Talk about comfort and safety!!