i wanna hold your hand

this morning i told god i just wanted to hold someone’s hand. it’s such a funny notion, the things we long and ask for. simple. yet satisfying. there’s something about it that can render more butterflies than a kiss. a hand. a hold. when i was little, my momma would alway sing this song to me. we’d dance around the kitchen, believing in the words we sang. loving every moment of love. i used to believe, without any looming shadows of doubt, that it’d be someone else singing this song to me one day. my hair would be a mess, probably piled on the top of my head, curls begging to be let loose. i’d be wearing that dress. the one i cook in, because i always cook in a dress. i’m never practical like that. he’d try to take my hand, i resist. he’d try again and succeed. clasping tight, he’d swing me through the kitchen in my bare feet. with a swirl too fast and too pure to disagree with, he’d scoop me in and whip me around. like a child, i’d laugh as if to say, i trust you but don’t let me fall, but also, don’t stop. i’d try desperately to keep my feet from floating. but why? feet should always float off the ground. with that cheek in his eye, he’d say, “oh yeah i’ll tell you something, i think you’ll understand.” and i did. i was had and i would always understand. and because of that, with none less care, we’d yell at each other, “i wanna hold your haaaaaaand!”dinner would be wine and take out that night, because our kitchen was really only ever made for dancing.

but i’m not so sure that girl in the story is me. has it ever been me? no one, aside from my mother, had ever swung me around in the kitchen with that look in their eye. it wasn’t until i grew and the pain of the world became real, that kitchen ballrooms became just a figment of my imagination. it didn’t seem as if it was a painful thing, or a sad thing, but a practical thing. one that you put on your shopping list. “love is not like that, check.” or maybe i’ve only begun to believe that it wasn’t for me. and if you can believe it, i’ve told friends that if i was actually presented with the opportunity to be married, i didn’t want it. and in fact, was something i’m scared of. how does the funny girl become the pretty girl you marry? how does the smart girl become the hot wife? how does the best friend become the lover? maybe she doesn’t. maybe it’s just that she’s much better at this thing on her own. her funny, smart, friendly own. i don’t know about you, but i’m pretty good at being that girl. the wing (wo)man, the easy to friend zone, smart funny, best friend. sounds dramatic and sad doesn’t it? you’re right, it probably is. how does a sweet vision of your future become a dulled down picture of what you’re living? oh but how is it that we let lies created by the enemy through the one thing we desire or the things that actually make us substantially beautiful, change what we really believe and long for? that through the mouth of men, we’ve begun to believe the lie that simply and nonchalantly, the promises of god are not for us. thank god this isn’t where the story ends.

some days i have a very direct opinion on what my speaker plays for me. other days, i let it run wild. hit the shuffle they say. as i hop in the shower, wash the sleep and the bubbles from my eyes, a great bop by my man harry comes on. my spirits are lifted. if i’m going to try and dream about holding someone’s hand, it might as well be his. amiright? i digress. it could have been a coincidence that the beatles came on next, however i don’t believe in coincidences. just like my mind can create the detail of life in a kitchen ballroom and death in a friend zone, i believe in the divine detail of our heavenly father’s comfort, protection, and grace. the dispeller of all lies. someone who’s love is so crazy and wild about us, he’ll do anything to get our attention. a man who likes to be silly and specific so we know he’s paying attention to every little detail of our life. “oh yeah i’ll tell you something,” my speaker sang to me, “i think you’ll understand.” and i did. it might sound trivial to you, but i knew, as you know when you’re a child, that this was my little promise reminder. the most odd, but most specific of nudges that holding someone’s hand was important to him too. he may not be giving me all the answers to the questions i have, but with his brilliant sense of humor, drops tokens of faith that only i could comprehend. you better believe i danced in the shower. a little restrictive, but that never stopped me.

so here. in case you need too. i’m lending you one of my favorite songs. the one that reminds me of my messy, wifed-up curls, dancing in the kitchen, as a reminder of god’s promise. in this moment, choose the little girl (boy) us, who believes in the things not yet seen. who believes that our father is kind and loving and specific and silly and his heart wants what our heart wants. who believes in truth and the things he’s spoken. and who dreams, without shadows, about someone holding our hand.