The Rocking Chair

One of my fondest memories of childhood is that of being rocked by my Grandad in a wooden rocker.  He would wrap me up in a beach towel, a pink one with seahorses on it and we would rock.  Somehow that made everything all right.  I think I was 3 or 4 years old, and it was a time of significant turmoil in our family, but the rocking chair with Grandad helped me feel safe and secure.  It was that perspective that helped me many years later, only it was God the Father's Lap, where I needed to spend time.  If I ever figure out how to post poetry here, I will share the poem I wrote that captures the essence and connection, of those two experiences. It is interesting to me that my two year old daughter also gravitates to the rocking chair when she needs comfort, be it hurt feelings or a physical "boo boo". She asks one of us to "sit in the rocking chair" meaning hold her and rock in the rocking chair.  So we hold her and reassure her and talk and listen.  When she is ready (sometimes ten seconds, sometimes ten minutes) she gets down and goes on with her life. It really isn't much different than my Grandad and me or my Father and me.  He always has time to hold me and rock and listen and talk and reassure me that He is with me and always will be. He lets me get down when I am ready and go about my life, knowing He is there waiting in the rocking chair.