Praise has many postures. My favorite is arms upraised. It makes me feel like I’m a little girl again, lifting my arms that I might be lifted, imagining that it is God, bending over to pick me up and cradle me in the embrace of love.
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| Ben in his Grandpa's arms |
Hands in the air call to mind Uncle Bob, the tallest man I knew in our family of short fellows, hauling me up on his shoulders where I could see everything. Upraised arms remind me of being tall – just the right size with God.
Arms upraised remind me of lifting my own son up, up, up, ever higher, his laughter a visible expression of joy – just the right emotion when meeting God.
Arms held up through his tears as he cries his sickness and yearns for comfort, my grandson sleeping the fitful rest of the sick child with breaths measured by the rhythm of his father’s chest – just the right spot when needing God.
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