We were at the secret place. His presence. My sanctuary. It’s where we reason together and talk things over. It’s where I lay all fears, shame and insecurities down. It’s hope and peace and mercy. It’s life. It’s love.
I shuddered at all that was to come. I understood then a microscopic fraction of what He went through at Gethsemane when, in the midst of intercession, He entertained the whim of whether or not there was any other way besides the cross. There was none.
I didn‘t say anything. He knew everything. He always did. He squeezed my hand. No words were spoken.
Just assurance. Assurance in the nail-scarred hand holding mine. Assurance that He understood. Assurance that I will never walk alone.
The above was something I jotted down on the 27th of January 2013. His hand on mine became a memory I clung to for the next two years. I recalled it every time I felt like He was far away from me.
His hand held mine.
2013 was the worst year of my life, and 2014 still trembled with aftershocks from the quaking my life went through from 2013.
Two years have passed and it remained true. His hand held mine through it all. He proved faithful. Even through times when I was too jaded, too broken to realize it.
I’m writing this as I listen to Jayesslee’s version of one of my favorite songs, I Dare You to Move. These lines strike a cord:
I know that some (most?) people following this blog aren’t Christians. Sometimes, I feel hesitant about posting anything that alludes to my faith, but this is such a huge part of my story, even of why I write.
We Christians get a lot of bad press lately. I can’t even say we don’t deserve it, but look back at every true Christ-follower’s life, and you will see traces of the words penned by Switchfoot’s amazing Jon Foreman.
We all have a story of redemption. A story of a fall. A point in time when we looked at ourselves and wondered why we were the way we were. A point of surrender. Sweet abandon. A moment when realizing our depravity, we had to be dared to put our faith into action.
Lacking this realization that we are but fallen creatures, we are white-washed tombs, self-righteous hypocrites, red-faced Pharisees. Quick to throw the first stone.
But looking back… Even then… Before I saw my own fallen nature… His hand held mine.
I am at my wilderness and the midnight of my soul had just seen its dawn. The winter is over and the early blooms of spring have begun to surface. I’m beginning to see how fascinating the wilderness can be.
Good things are coming. His promised words echo in the back of my mind: “From this day on, I will bless you.” I am filled with anticipation and wonderment, but my hope no longer lies in things to come.
I’ve found hope in knowing that in every season – through all the good and all the bad – His hand holds mine.
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