A week ago I experienced something new, something beautiful. The sun was low in the sky, warm colors set the perfect scene. My husband and I took seats in the back of a small crowd that had gathered to watch our cousin marry her beloved. The pastor and her new soon to be husband stood with the ocean to their backs, their eyes brightened when they caught the first glimpse of the beautiful bride. I caught my breath when I saw her, her grin stretching from ear to ear, she was gorgeous. For the very first time, I watched a union form as a married woman.
My hands tightened around my husband’s. It wasn’t so long ago that we were an aisle away from each other, never had we been more ready for something in all of our lives. Only three and a half months later, I listened to the pastor speak with a new appreciation.
These are the hands, he said, that promise to love you all of the days of your life. I passed Q a soft kiss. What a gift his love is in my life.
These are the hands that will work along side yours, as together you build your future, as you laugh and cry, as you share your innermost secrets and dreams. Another hand squeeze. His hard work makes my heart swoon every day. He takes such pride in being my husband, it shows in every little thing he does.
These are the hands that will hold your children. A tear slid out. Oh, Lord, you hear our cries. If it is your will…
These are the hands that will wipe your tears, that will hold you while you when grief comes. God’s grace has abounded in the intimate moments of grief. His hands holding tight when waves of emotions come crashing down in the middle of the night, his hands wrapped around mine in church when we sing worship songs through streaming tears, his hands holding mine when joy breaks through the sadness. These, truly, are the hands I want to hold through every season.
Listening to vows being spoken after this storm was such a wonderful reminder of the promises we spoke to each other not so long ago. In the good times and bad, through wealth and when we scrape the bottom of the money pot, in sickness and in health, winning and losing, his are the hands I want to be holding, squeezing tighter and tighter as the years go on.