The small boy slowly pulled the arrow back while safely encircled within his father’s strong arms. Awkwardly, shaky…true, but all I could see was the father’s radiant smile. This wise man knew no arrow would come close to hitting the mark without his strength, his steadiness, his careful aim.
“There you go. That’s the way.” He spoke with gentle encouragement. The target was not a consideration that day.
Just the slow drawing back of the arrow until the bowstring grew taunt, seeming on the verge of snapping. “Do you feel the tug? Now don’t let go yet. Steady!”
Delighted, it mattered not to the child whether he drew back the arrow alone.
I watched and wished I could be like that child…trusting…trying…believing. Instead, I fret over missing the mark.