3/1/15

i wanna hold your hand...



One of my favorite things is when I am riding down the road with my husband. He is driving and I sit in the passenger seat next to him, looking out the window, listening to music; lost deep in thought. It is never about what song is playing or who is in the car with me. It doesn't matter if the sun is shining, or the wind is howling, or the rain is falling. This is one of my favorite memories because when these occasions occur, the memory I have is almost always of him reaching across the space between us and taking my hand. There is no act of physical contact that makes me feel more connected to another human being than when they hold my hand. It makes me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel connected. It makes me feel intimate. It makes me feel like I can do anything and I am not alone.

Over the years, I have pondered what it is that makes me feel loved and special. I have pondered long and hard when I felt most connected to those around me. I have reflected on when my heart has loved the deepest and when I have felt strongest. All of these memories are of times when I have held or had someone else who has held my hand in theirs. There is something special about holding hands, so special that even the memory of my hand gripped in the grasp of another touches me deeply beyond the words.

I am often described as an emotionally guarded person. There have been family members and friends who have known me for years and still expressed that they did not really feel that they knew much of me at all. Over the years though, I have been powerfully touched by the people around me who are willing and able to reach their hand through what they have discovered to be an invisible wall. They hug me or hold my hand or just stroke their hand across my back and all of my defenses melt away. The power of physical presence moves me and I have observed it move others as I have learned to do some of these same things for others. As I have sat silent with family members saying goodbye to loved ones, or in the car with someone who was having a horrible day, I have found that a simple physical touch communicates what words are inadequate to do in uncomfortable situations. Those touches say, "You are not alone. I am with you. I love you. You will get through this," and so many other things that sound trite to our ears but speak beyond the words.

This week I spoke with an elderly lady. Her and her husband are both legally blind and trying not to bother their children because they know they have their own lives. He is on hospice services and is having a procedure done in the hospital this week. When I called and spoke to her and offered to come be with her for a while during the procedure, she shared, "Just the hug of someone when I am afraid somehow does so much for me." It really made alive Psalms 73:23 to me. "Yet I still belong to you, you hold my right hand." As I reflected and just sat with the breath deep inside of me, I could hear my heartbeat as I began to consider what this said to me. God holds my hand. God is holding my hand. The same way it feels and looks to have my hand in my husband's hand, or in my daughter's hand, or in my grandsons' hands, this is what it means to hold hands with God. YET I STILL BELONG TO HIM <3