that sense of touch

One day, I went into my Grandma's room and thought that little old lady looked really cheeky, almost like a mischievous kid. I ambushed her, giving her a big bear hug. She winked a bit, stretched out her only moving hand and brushed her fingers on my cheek. It was that touch. It made me feel loved.

One Sunday, I was ushering running kids around on the second floor of the church building, getting them ready for worship and games, as usual. A toddler named Evan came to me and held my hand, leading me to where he found a sticker stuck on the wall. Hands so small, so soft, and so warm. It was that touch. It made me feel wanted.

One Saturday, my 11 year old cousin came over to have me help her with her homework. She asked to brush my hair and do all sorts of fancy hairdo with my head. It was that touch. It made me feel beautiful.

One Saturday evening in January, Japheth gave me a brief goodbye hug before boarding the plane. It was that touch. I felt a sense of belonging, also hope.