She Held My Hand

My daughter has two days left in the sixth grade. She turned twelve years old two months ago. She's almost a teenager.
Many people have said something to me like, "Yeah, Karen, you may think girls are easy now. But wait until she's a teen!" Part of me - thinking back to what I was like when I was a teen - has considered their threats words of warning, and contemplated finding a nice closet in which to lock her up until she passes adolescence.
Then I have experiences with Elizabeth like the ones over the past few days, and I think, Ahhh, this is sweet. These years aren't going to be so scary!
Sure, she's a little weird sometimes. She skips around the house, flopping her arms around, making strange noises, and I look at her wondering, Where did she come from??!!
Other times my dear daughter will start crying at the stupidest most insignificant little thing and I am reminded her hormones are working overtime, and things may start getting crazy around here soon.

But when my fear starts setting in, I will choose to remember her holding my hand.

Friday night Brian and the boys were gone, so Elizabeth and I went to Subway to split a $5 footlong. As we got out of the van and were walking into the store, she reached out and held my hand. And what really happened is she was holding my heart.
After we came home and ate, we watched a movie together. And my nearly-teenage daughter cuddled up with me on the couch and shared her Whoppers with me.

Sunday we were at my mother-in-law's church and Elizabeth didn't want to go to the junior high group, so she sat with us during the service. And when we were walking out, she reached over and held my hand again.

Today I was a chaperon for the sixth grade field trip to the YMCA. The first thing Elizabeth said to me this morning was, "Mom, will you do everything with me today?" I told her I would probably have other responsibilities but I would do my best to spend time with her, and she seemed OK with that answer.
I knew she was happy to have me attending the field trip, but I did wonder how she would relate to me in the presence of her friends.
She was just as sweet.
When I was released from my exchange-shoes-for-skates duty, I donned a pair of roller skates and joined Elizabeth in the rink. And, sure enough, she held my hand again. Because she loves me, or to keep me from falling, I am not sure.

But she held my hand in front of all her friends and classmates.

And many times walking through the Y, she came up behind me, slipped her arm through mine, and walked along beside me.

Yes. My daughter is almost a teenager. She acts rather strange at times, and tends toward being over-emotional other times.
But I will not fear the years ahead. I will not dread her journey through adolescence.

Because she is still willing to hold my hand.