FocusOnTheFamily

A hand to hold

“I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” (Isaiah 49:15-16).

You probably don’t remember the first person’s hand you held, but most likely it was your mother’s or father’s. When you got a little bigger, Mom or Dad would take your hand before crossing a street. Their hands of protection were always there, even though you liked to run free.

The day came when your hands were big enough for washing dishes, catching a baseball or drawing a landscape – but rarely for holding. It wasn’t proper anymore. As a teenager, you’d walk hand-in-hand with that handsome boy or sweet girl from math class.

Then you finally met the one with the hand that fit perfectly into yours. That hand was always warm, always available. Hands of love were there through courting, through the many years of marriage, and of course, through every joy and trial. One day, however, those aged hands ceased to be. In death, they went to be with the God of heaven.

Distant thoughts kept the reality of my widowhood suspended. Now my hands are empty, and my heart is broken. Where are the hands to comfort me?

The answer came one day when my three-year-old granddaughter, Ashlee, asked me to lie with her for a nap. She had a toddler bed, and I could only fit one leg in. So I decided to lie on the floor next to her bed and just hold her hand as it dangled over the edge. We looked at each other and smiled. Ashlee’s big brother wanted to know why I was on the hard floor. “Because I love Ashlee,” I replied.

When I wonder about my newly widowed life, I think of holding Ashlee’s hand, and I realize that God is like that. As His child, I know that God holds the hand my husband can no longer hold.

Effie-Alean Gross works and plays in Pella, Iowa, and around the world.

© 2007 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.

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