The walk is a lot like our role in parenting. We teach them and try to guide them on the right course, to stay with us and follow our lead. Sometimes we bring them closer, away from cars in the street or away from other pedestrians. Sometimes we give them slack and let our fingers barely touch as they move their bodies in frenetic kid ways: hopping, skipping, dancing, even dragging their feet.
But our hands are always there, always ready to grab or release their little paws. I sense them come up to me and my hand instinctively reaches down. Often they tuck tiny fingers into my palm, and sometimes they fall into my legs, but a few times they don't need me to touch them, they need to simply know that I'm there.
My view of God is always seen through the eyes of being a parent. Oftentimes I make assumptions about God, rightly or wrongly, based on how I love (verb and noun) my children.
Like my hand reaching down to my kids, God's hand--as perfectly portrayed on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel--is always outstretched to us. We can grab it, or we can fall into His legs, or we can just pass by closely to know He's there...