The Big Squeeze

On our bedroom wall hangs a trio of three pictures, framed in black. The one on the left is my husband, dressed in black, on our wedding day. The one in the center is a precious photograph of him and I, caught in a laughing embrace, same day. He in black, and I in white. Our wedding day wasn't really a day full of joy, though there were joyful moments... but that is another story I will probably not ever write about.

The photograph on the right is a picture of me, traditionally posed, in a simple white gown, holding a autumnal bouquet loosely at arms end. I was young when we got married - only 22 - and there are two things that strike me now when I look at this bridal portrait on my bedroom wall.

I was so young.

I have really, really long arms.

No, seriously - my arms are like a colt's legs... disproportionately long to the rest of the body. I guess I never grew into my arms. If I measure them with a tape from shoulder to fingertip, they are 32 inches long.  That's a few inches shy of a yard. I am forever having a hard time finding shirts with sleeves long enough to reach my wrists. Those unfortunate shirts with 3/4 sleeves make me look like a clown.

Probably no one else in the world has ever looked at me and thought casually "My, what long arms she has!" but nevertheless, it's something I am aware of and sometimes self-conscious about. Like the spot on my front tooth that has been there since the tooth came in. Nothing I can do about either one, but they make me different and there are times when I don't want to be different.

Glad thing, though - I don't have a choice. We are all... different.

A few weeks ago I was snuggled up next to Leah in her bed at bedtime, instead of staring at my wedding portraits in my own bed at bedtime. Our furnace was on the fritz for a few days, and I was worried my girls would get cold at night, so I slept with them under piles of blankets. Well, they slept... I fretted. And as I lay awake fretting about my home and my children being cold (which they weren't, but still) I realized that Leah is getting so big now. She's 7. She's not a little girl anymore, she's a girl-girl. But, my girl-girl still has a tender heart and she often wants to be carried and hugged and cuddled with, especially at night. As I laid there awake in the darkness, with my long-long arms wrapped around her ever-growingness, pondering how strange it is that to us mothers our children may grow physically but they are still our "littles" nonetheless, I had a strange thought flit through my mind.

It is a good thing God gave me such long arms... the thought said. I can hold on to my children that much longer. 

Long arms make it easier to carry a 7-year old. Long arms make it easier to snuggle with a colt. Long arms mean long hugs. My arms are perfectly proportionate to my children and our hearts and the great, big love we share.

I go to Leah's school many times throughout each week to volunteer. Not always in Leah's classroom, though, so when I get there I usually try to find her to give her a hug and let her know I'm there. Most days I try to coincide my arrivals with her lunch recess so as not to disrupt anything. But there is always something disruptive about our greetings, at least to my heart, when Leah spots me down the hallway and shouts "Mama!!" and comes running, flying, into a giant bear hug that usually drops me to my knees.

It is a good thing God gave me such long arms... long arms make it easier to hug a flying 7 year old in snowpants and a purple parka.

As the year has progressed, I've noticed a few things about Leah and her friends at school. Leah is not ashamed to hug me at school, not one bit. And, neither are her friends. It is not unusual to field several bear hugs upon arrival from several different coltish first graders, and then have to pry many pairs of arms off from around my neck with laughing reminders each time to "go take your stuff off and put it away!" Always laughing. Such a welcome! Thank God he gave me such long arms.

I'm starting to understand that God makes us perfectly, even if we are different. Yesterday, I was in the Media Center at Leah's school checking books out to her class, when the principal of her school walked through on his way to somewhere. One of the girls in Leah's class adoringly threw herself at the principal and gave him a big, huge bear hug around the waist. The principal is not a big, tall guy - and maybe he has wished he was at some point or another, I don't know - but what Leah's little classmate said to him made me grin. She said "You are the perfect size for me to give you a great big squeeze!" And the thing is, the principal IS the perfect size for great big squeezes from elementary school kids.

And we all could use more squeezes!

In this life we live, we could choose to live self-consciously ashamed of our differentness... and most of us do. Or, we could choose to see the beauty of our differentness. The way God fits our differentness to our situations. The way it can bring about joy.

Maybe I do have disproportionately long arms, but I also have arms made perfectly for welcoming children into great big bear hugs. It is no wonder then that there is nothing which brings me more joy in this life than being able to hug and hold my children.

All of them.