Everytime my daughter grabs onto my hand, I marvel at the wonder of her chubby little fingers.
What is it about chubby little fingers? Is it their soft skin wrapping? Or the preciousness of their smallness? You have to admit that there is something of the tender glory of God that cannot help but be displayed in such small perfection that is a child's hand. Is it the realization of the potential that such little hands might hold? Or is it the innocence of what they have not yet touched mixed with the playfulness of what they have? Maybe it's just the wonder of knowing that these chubby little hands belong to a real, albeit little, person. In them is a picture of the miracle of life. The amazing reality that this little human being which started inside of me is somehow real and growing and loving and true.