Wide-eyed, hands in the air, laughter falling from his lips, he ventured from one side of the living room to the other. Daniel’s first steps were both a surprise and a delight. For weeks, this is how he walked. Everything was exciting and fun.

            Sunday, I sat in the back row behind a young family. It’s been a joy getting to know them as adults since I taught the mom in fourth grade (we won’t even discuss how many years ago that was and how old I feel). My favorite part of the service is making silly faces with their little one and watching her respond.

            This week, she hammed it up. She wore her daddy’s sunglasses, made silly faces at me and my husband, and flashed that sweet smile throughout the singing part of the service. But when the band sang, “And I throw up my hands and praise you again and again,” those little hands raised in the air and a smile flooded her face.

            I watched as she held those little fingers in the air and moved her hands with the music. Something deep down resonated with my soul. I remembered Daniel’s little arms in the air and God brought a sweet truth to my soul. Little ones are used to reaching up with their hands for help from a bigger person. It’s natural for them.

            The reality hit my heart. When did I stop throwing my hands up to my Father for help? When did I take the reins of control and forget that hands in the air isn’t a weakness but instead a sign of trust? When did I start thinking I had it all figured out and stop needing God’s help?

            A smile always comes when I think of small children with hands raised in the air, not a care in this world aside from enjoying the moment. To think we could live that way too.