I Wanna Hold Your Hand

The week before Valentine's, arctic cold slammed down on Portland. This uncommon snow gift offered a chance to play, to slow, to capture those precious moments. Like a news reporter looking for a fresh angle to the story, I strapped my camera over shoulder and pointed the lens at all this white joy.

At times in life it feels too hard to let go. The unknown, it looms dark and scary, painful, the holding on, clinging, it feels right and true. Like a favorite pair of faded pajamas, bottoms all frayed. Comfortable, cozy, relaxing even.

But when the hands loosen tight grip, oh what a wild ride it is, and the eyes focus clear and you catch sight of Him in front, going ahead, always in the lead. Beckoning with outstretched hands. Waiting. Patiently.

 

The view alters when I dare to look up. Perspectives, visions, choices change as the next faltering step propels feet forward.

 

And when ice storm threatens power, safety, children at play, I hunt for a sign from Him, a love note that He instant-messages, time after time. An epistle from above, a coaxing from the unknown.

This old Dogwood tree, its branches cloaked in chilly ice, He wrote a special note that day. The Christmas lights dangling down around lamp post. A bit messy, green string almost forgotten, until the ice and wind exposed that strand of white lights.

 

I thought about that. Those Christmas lights in February. In all the uncertainty, the messy and hard, He is chipping away at the frozen heart, exposing transparent layers of light. And ice chunks fell from tree branches, bird feeders, telephone wires. Gracefully, lovingly, painfully, chipping away. His arms holding us tenderly while we groan audibly from stretch marks, He wipes damp brow. The breaths come easier with each truth unveiled, groans giving birth to glory.

 

 

His hand, it reaches to the ends of the earth, into the clutter, melting all doubts. Isn't this what the Beatles sang fifty years ago to American audiences? The ancient message, its captivating, scary, liberating invitation. My legs trembled love. I hummed like a nine-year-old girl perched in front of black-and-white television, oblivious to the future that was already placed in His capable hands. The unknown, it has a way of braving you in.

 

"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand, When I'll say that something, I wanna hold your hand, I wanna hold your hand..."

  

 

The knowledge that we are never alone calms the troubled sea of our lives and speaks peace to our souls.

~A.W. Tozer~