God Holds Me Lightly

This story is in the tradition of Ignatian contemplation.

“Mima! Are you home?” Jesus called as he knocked rapidly. I recognized the voice of my young neighbor immediately. Of course, no one else calls me by that pet name, which he gave me before he could pronounce Myriam. He lives just a few doors away.

“Come in! I’ve got some fresh-baked challah,” I replied, slicing a thick piece as the 10-year-old entered. I love when he visits.

“Mima, I’ve got to tell you about Hebrew school today,” he said after giving me a tight squeeze and eagerly accepting my fresh-baked bread. “We learned about the prophet Jeremiah. He got a feeling that he should go to the potter’s house and watch him work. And while he watched, God gave Jeremiah a message.” Jesus paused to chew as I poured him a cup of water.

“God shapes every human being,” Jesus said, “just like a potter makes a vase, or jar, or something. Each one is unique. And God loves everything that is formed in those loving hands. God sees real beauty in every creation.”

I kept listening, nodding. I could feel his eagerness to teach me what he knew.

“And here’s where it gets interesting,” he said, leaning forward and placing his hand on the back of mine. “Like clay in the potter’s hand, God holds you. I imagined God’s hands holding you tightly, like this.” He turned my hand as if to shake it, and he grasped it firmly. “Because God’s love is so strong, we are safe.” His grip was so tight it almost hurt.

And then suddenly Jesus let go of my hand and explained further, “Then the word of the Lord came to me: ‘Jesus, my dear beloved, we don’t hold our people in a crushing grasp. Think of your heart, Jesus, softly floating in your hand, as something sacred that you are offering to others.’” Jesus mimicked holding something precious in his palm.

“It came to me that God was saying, ‘I support each person so lightly, never taking away his or her freedom.’ Mima, let me show you.” Jesus gently placed my palm upward, suspended in the air, and put his own hand an inch below mine, with his palm upward also, although our hands were not touching. “Our people are free always to choose, and I support them.”

As he kept his hand suspended in the air under mine, I started to move my hand back toward my body. His other hand shot under mine, as if he were carefully balancing a butterfly in his upturned palm.

“You see? When you make your choice, God’s hand is always there, ready to support you.” He smiled. One of his hands passed under an imaginary spot to the right, and then the other hand swiftly moved to the left as if it were catching something falling. “Wherever you chose to go, God is there, loving you and available,” he said gleefully.

I sat still, my mouth gaping open for a second as I let his imagery sink in.

Jesus gave me a quizzical look. “Did I explain it well enough?” he asked, gulping down the water and looking at me intently.

He waited for a response. “I think I get it,” I said, smiling. This boy was surprising me again. “Jesus, you are a marvel.”

And he laughed that boyish laugh that sounds like water over river rocks. With youthful energy, he jumped up from the stool, thanked me for spending time with him, and gave me a quick hug.

“It’s time I went home,” he said, moving towards the door. “Dad needs me in the workshop,” he said. After a gentle hug goodbye, he added, “Please come and visit anytime! My mom and I always love spending time with you.”