There was a festival at my older child’s middle school. Since it was the first large-scale event that welcomed families, my younger child and I went to the school with great excitement. The festival lasted longer than scheduled. As the sun set, the warmth of the day faded, and the air grew chilly. Even after putting on the long-sleeved shirt I had brought, I could still feel the cold.
“Ru-da, aren’t you cold?” I asked.
“Just a little,” she replied.
I took another shirt from my bag and helped her put it on. Then, as I turned back to watch the stage, she quietly reached for my hand. Perhaps my hand felt cold—she let go, rubbed her hands together, blew warm air on them, and then gently wrapped both around mine. The sight was so sweet and touching that I couldn’t help but smile.
“Are you warming my hand because you think I’m cold?” I asked.
Ru-da answered with a bright, innocent smile. In that moment, a tender emotion welled up inside me. Though it was such a small gesture, her desire to warm her mother’s hand felt more precious than anything. That day, my child’s hands—warmer than any heater—not only warmed my fingers but also filled my heart with warmth that lingered long after.