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Saturday, February 16, 2013
I almost skipped church one Sunday last month because the aches and pains of middle age had kept me up all night.
But I went anyway, and I sat next to my 2-year-old pal and his mom. He played quietly in my lap or hers during the entire service.
Sometime during the sermon, he looked at my bare arm where the shirt sleeve had ridden up, then reached out and began to stroke it gently.
“Soft,” he whispered — which was a big surprise to me, considering the years of sun damage I’ve sustained.
He inspected the wrinkles and the freckles and frowned a bit when he noticed the dry, broken skin over the knuckles. He giggled as he pushed at the prominent bones on my wrist, pretending that they were buttons like the ones on his toys, and they would make me do something fun. Then he smiled at me and rubbed my arm a little while longer.
I know interacting with animals is good for our health, and it must be true for babies, too. I felt much better, and was amazed at the healing power of human touch .
Now go hug somebody.
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