The bridge of my Father
“Hold my hand, dear,” said my Dad.
“No Dad, you hold my hand. If I hold your hand and something happens to me, chances are there that I may let your hand go. But if you hold my hand, I know for sure that no matter what happens, you will never let my hand go.” This is what I say whenever I am harassed and squeezed by trials and tribulations.
And He has never let me down!
I learnt this great lesson when I was crossing a bridge along with my father and was caught in the gushing waters of River Cauvery in South India!
It happened when I was just a little child of four years. When we were staying in Mettur, my father would often take me to the Sunday Fair, where we could buy everything at a cheaper rate. There are two ways to reach the fair. One is by the highway of three kilometer walking distance through a big surplus bridge built across the river to let out the surplus water during floods. The other one is a small wooden bridge built between two hillocks under which the surplus water used to flow. Drainage water from the nearby factories was flowing in that perennially. Very rarely, only if there is heavy monsoon and the dam gets filled beyond limits, the shutters of the bridge will be raised and surplus water will be let through the canal where the additional wooden bridge exists.
As usual I was following my father with two cloth bags in my hands to bring the things from the fair. Within ten minutes we reached the wooden bridge. There a sudden commotion among the people who were shouting and walking fast.
“We have to walk fast. Shall I take you dear?” asked my dad.
“No dad, I can walk fast.” I was quite confident in my ability. Shall I run?” I was still ignorant of the imminent danger!
“They have opened the shutters! There is a heavy flood!” somebody was shouting.
“It is risky to walk through the wooden bridge now though it can be crossed in minutes,” a lady was hurrying to the fair with a basket full of tomatoes on her head.
When the flood comes it may overflow the wooden bridge and carry away people walking on it. There had been a lot of casualties during such occasions.
I was scared!
My dad was more scared!
“Honey, please hold my hand so that you don’t fall into the canal.” I can still remember his worried words.
“No dad, you hold my hand.”
Even today I don’t know why and how I could say those words!
“Why?” asked my puzzled dad.
“If I hold your hand and something happens to me, chances are there that I may let your hand go. But if you hold my hand, I know for sure that no matter what happens, you will never let my hand go.”
As years rolled by, I understood how my heavenly Father is holding my hand.
I began to realize how Jesus is bridging me with my dear Dad, who cannot leave me alone!
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