Her tiny hand wrapped around her father's finger. Hand so fresh, so new, touching that of one that has saved lives and felt lives slip away. The innocent feeling the war-beaten. We gazed into the eyes of her petite face. It was just the three of us: the baby, her father, and myself, a friend of their family. It seemed as if the world stopped. This was true living - full living. I marveled at the scene: so simple, yet so rich. It was complete trust and beautiful in every way. I thought of our friendship and what it has weathered: these same strong hands brought comfort to me on one of the worst days of my life; they have stroked the sweaty foreheads of soldiers who fought to come home alive; these hands have seen and done a lot. Now, they once again comforted, stroked. They assured this new life that she is protected. They communicated love. All things dead, now forgotten in the past, we tried to touch the eternal, to see a human picture of the Master - Him Whose hands also comforted, stroked, touched death, and now reach down to touch ours. They, too, communicate love. We wrap our fingers around His. We call Him Father. He calls us child. Relationship. Life. Abundant Grace coming from His heart to ours. We are protected. We trust - completely. The perfection of Him enters into the imperfection of us. The love flows. And, in that moment, the world stops.