Hugs are good. I'll take them any time. My teenage son is in the habit these days of giving me hugs after one of our deep conversations about the meaning of life, which we have quite often. He even gives them to me when things are simply going along as normal. I especially like them after my Sunday sermon. He often comes up to me when the service ends and hugs me. It's as if he is telling me, “Dad, you did a good job and I really got something out of what you said.” You can image how I feel after that!
Then there's my wife. I actually lose count how many times we hug a day. One of my favorite hugs is when she is washing the dishes and I come up and hug her from behind and silently let her know how precious she is. She must like it, because she now does the same thing to me when I'm washing the dishes. Hugs are almost like manners in our home. They're expected and appreciated. They oil the wheels of our daily lives and make the ride that much smoother. Without them, I think life would wear us out.
For my twins, a boy and a girl, hugging is second nature. I really enjoy seeing the look on a visitor's face when my son freely offers them a hug, showing in his way that they are welcome in our home. The reaction of the unsuspecting guest speaks for itself – most people are used to not being cherished. That makes me sad. But that sadness is easily washed away when my little girl, out of the blue, tells me that she needs a daddy hug today. As we embrace she whispers in my ear, “I love you.” Holding her close I whisper back, “I love you too, Boo,” calling her by her nickname.
Around the Thanksgiving dinner table this year, I have to look no farther than the table to know what I'm thankful for.