Healing Touch

I lie curled in a fetal position in the dim light of the bedroom. My whole body aches; my head pounds. I try to rest.

Slowly, the door opens He step to my bedside and softly asks, "How are you doing?"

I mumble, "Not too well."

He touches my arm and helps me sit up. I rise to stand on legs I fear won't hold me. He pulls me toward him then wraps me in his arms. His hug is warm and comforting. I lean in to inhale the smell of them. There it is -- the familiar lingering smell of diesel, a hint of sweat and wintergreen. He just got home from a hard week on the road.

As we stand there, he begins to rub my back. I sigh and melt into him a little more. He runs scarred fingers through my hair. He places work calloused hands on my face. I look up at him and smile. He kisses my forehead, his lips brushing my skin soft as a feather. He steps back and I lie down again.

The pain is gone from my body. My head eased, I drift into sleep. When I wake, I go in search of him.

As I get ready for bed that night, I reflect on the day. I'm thankful for his healing touch and I am reminded of God.

I think of God searching me out when the wounds and cares of life send me whimpering. He lovingly holds me close until I no longer ache. He wraps caring arms around me, holds me gently and gives me rest. All He requires of me is to lean on Him and receive His healing touch.