Have you ever watched a father gently hold the small hands of a child as they tiptoed their way across a kitchen floor? The child is learning the motion, the rhythm of walking, even if she does not yet have the strength to do so on her own.
But there comes a day when the father does let go and watches anxiously as the child pauses to regain balance and warily takes her first step. And then another. And then another.
The father is never far, always ready and waiting to catch his little girl should she fall.
She may scrape her knees, but the father is there to wipe the blood and kiss away the pain. She may cry, but the father is there to hold her and rock her until she knows that she is safe. She may be afraid, but the father is there to whisper, "You're doing beautifully, my daughter. You're doing beautifully."
Of course, the father could never let go of her hands. He could never let her to fall, or to scrape her knees, or to cry, or to stumble.
But then, she never would have learned to walk. Or run. Or jump. Or dance.
And so the father takes away his hand.
Somedays, I feel as though I am that little girl, taking one awkward step after another, but always in the care of a good Father. Though He takes His hand away, I know that He is never far. He is watching me, cheering me on, delighting in the ways I am growing and learning and experiencing more of this life He has given me.
It is out of love, not neglect, that God lets go.
Maybe you've felt that way.
Maybe you feel that way now.
If it seems as though God has removed His hand, take heart. He is never far.
Now, trust him.
And take a step.