HELP ME NOT FALL
"Dad, will you hold my hand? Will you help me not fall?" Mitch said with a sweet, soft voice. I reached out to hold his hand as Mitch leaned down and reached into the crystal clear waters that flowed from a natural hot spring. "It's like a bath! Do you think I could swim in it?" Mitch was fascinated that nature could produce such bathy warm water, for until this moment, he only knew the icy streams that came from snowmelt.

We were at a father's & son's campout, and I was so excited to spend time with my boys. We played Frisbee on the grass and cooked our famous tin foil dinners and were the envy of every camper who could smell the magical meal cooking slowly in the glowing embers. Mitch loved my special recipe.

Later that evening, we would find ourselves huddled in our family tent, listening to a torrential downpour, exhilarated by the constant clash of thunder that boomed right above our heads. Mitch snuggled into me with his sleeping bag as I wrapped my arm around him and held him tight. Little Wyatt sat on my other side, lovingly held by my other arm. Ethan bravely sat with a smile and listened to the rain pound the walls of our tent, ready to pack up on a moment's notice were we to flood.

We made it through the night dry and un-drenched. I am grateful for those moments with my family. If I have a regret in life, it is that I didn't have enough of them. I did my best, but I wish I would have done more.

I often think back on this moment when Mitch asked for help to do something other children could have done with ease. His muscles were weak, and his balance always precarious. The slightest bump from someone could send him crashing to the ground. Often, Mitchie's plea was, "Help me not fall." Every time he said that I was reminded of everything I ever for granted.

Those words "help me not fall" will echo in my mind forever. As his father, I didn't want Mitch to fall and hurt himself; yet at the same time, I didn't want to rob my son the opportunity to do things on his own. Therein lies the delicate parental balance … to help enough to enable growth but not enough to rob it.

When I look back on my life then and now, it doesn't take much to recognize my spiritual Father is doing the same thing with me. His hand is often out of view, and if I'm not mindful, I go about my busy life, unaware of His helping hand.

Yet, every time I kneel and ask my Father to "help me not fall," I get a distinct impression that He is not only there … but that He has always been there – helping me just enough to enable growth, but never enough to rob it.

At least on some level, being a Father myself, I think I understand now; and I wouldn't have it any other way.