The general idea is that the person you are holding space for is allowed to be seen and heard unconditionally. I’ve been reading a lot about trauma, stress, and anxiety lately, and this practice is one that comes up frequently. A few years ago, there was this viral video of a precious child (toddler age) and her father. Just one of those videos you stumble across because it starts to play automatically after the one where your own toddler grandchild is doing something adorable, again. You might remember it, but if not, here is the description:

The toddler is completely naked, but “private” parts are discretely blurred. Toddler and father are on the floor, sort of in the corner in front of what would be a folding pantry door in my home. The toddler is in the midst of what looks like a somewhat typical, but intense tantrum. The video has been set to music, but you can hear the child’s relentless, guttural crying. There’s flailing and kicking, and writhing—all the hallmarks of deep meltdown.

My first instinct was to wonder what had made the child SO upset, but anyone who has spent any amount of time around a toddler knows it might have been the wrong lid on a sippy cup or something even less traumatic. I didn’t dwell on that thought long because I was immediately more engaged in the reaction of the father. Never have I ever personally reacted to a tantrum or witnessed another parent react with such… peace and patience. I’m completely captivated by his reaction.

He maintains his child’s safety, placing his hands under the kicking legs and feet to minimize potential injury. He’s prepared to protect the child from herself, but he’s in no way trying to thwart the tantrum. He says nothing. Cross-legged and quiet, he just waits. A minute and twenty seconds into the video, the child crawls in his direction, falling into his lap.

The father offers a loose embrace, realizing the child is not yet ready to submit to the comfort of his love. This father pulls close and lets loose allowing the child to retreat again if she desires. He gently kisses her head. You can see that the child longs to give in and submit, but just cannot seem to stop fighting against the tender love of her patient father. She climbs up his chest, lays around his neck, kicks some more. The father is patient, not a trace of anger.

Two and half minutes in and you can see that the child is losing strength to fight, and the father’s embrace grows tighter, and his gentle affection continues. Finally, the child resigns her fight and slips down completely into the father’s arms and his lap. She’s still crying, but she’s no longer fighting the comfort offered by her father.

When I got to that part, seeing her surrender really broke me. I’m not convinced my written description can really do the interaction justice. I hope the last 800 words weren’t for nothing, because seeing that kind of patient love in action is so convicting for me.

That moment of surrender was the point that everything clicked for me. I was drawn to the whole display because I identified with the struggling toddler and her intense emotions. I imagined the father as THE Father. My heavenly Father responding so gently to my fits, and arguments, and pushing back

against His patient presence in my life. He reaches out to me. He protects me from myself. He just holds space for me while I pursue my own will. Never endorsing sin but allowing me to choose my way or His comfort. He pulls me close and shows me love all while allowing me retreat into my own space filled with crying and sin and disobedience. He looks at me with loving, patient, and tender eyes. Not because I deserve it, but because I’m His child and because of Jesus.

God doesn’t just hold space for His children. He IS our space. And when we finally realize we can’t do it anymore and collapse into His arms and slide down into His lap in full surrender. Maybe we are still crying, but we know we belong in this space and we’re not alone in this space. In HIS space is where we will experience the PEACE. He chose us before He created us and He’s with us during this entire tantrum we call everyday life.

I wasn’t like this father in the video when my kids were losing their minds as toddlers or teenagers. I wasn’t like this parent when my friend’s mom died. I’m not like this father when the people I love the most are struggling with anxiety and depression. But I am looking to my Father. I’m sliding down into His lap, with tears in my eyes and surrender in my heart. I think from His space, I can be better at holding space for others.

My children. My friends. My employees. My lost family members. My hurting community. You.

"But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness." Psalm 86:15

"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful." Colossians 3:15

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry,” James 1:19