When I look back…
at the thrilling things in life – experiences, adventures, trials, and so on – I remember most vividly the firsts:
First time driving the tractor.
First time plowing the fields without my dad supervising.
First time driving.
But the one that I can still feel in my gut, even to this day, is the first time my wife (to be) put her hand in mine and our fingers intertwined.
Something so innocent, yet powerful.
My heart stopped for a moment when our hands touched for the first time.
I don’t remember the place where it happened. I just remember the enormity of it all.
She touched my hand!
She didn’t flinch!
She didn’t take it away!
Her hand fits in mine!
Our fingers are intertwined!
Her hand feels warm and cool at the same time!
I can’t believe this is happening!
Heart pounding… flushed… stay cool, bro…
What a feeling!
Now, after that moment, things progressed into a relationship, engagement, marriage, and kids. But after all this time, 25 and a half years from the day we met, I can still remember that feeling.
Was it really that vivid that you can remember it even now?
Well, yes and no.
You see, I feel it EVERY time our hands touch and our fingers intertwine.
It still happens to me… but now there’s more behind all that.
I’ve grown. I understand what we have. I know our history. We’ve been through stuff together. She has become everything God promised me she could be. We’re friends, lovers, confidantes, and…yet, through all of that, I still get a thrill from just holding her hand. It’s like a kiss that never ends.
This small act of love means something different today than Day One. Gone is the nervousness and the anticipation of the unknown. The heart may still pound, the flushed skin still happens occasionally. But the act of holding her hand speaks of much more now.
“I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine!” it shouts.
“We face the world as one flesh!” the intertwined fingers declare.
“We stand together against all odds!” the grip of the hands confirm.
“This is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.” it testifies.
“I’m not letting go of you,” it promises.
“I will be vulnerable with you in public and likewise in private,” the act conveys to the other.
“I don’t need to be in a bed to feel connected to you,” it assures.
“We can just be innocent as children and enjoy the experience of connection,” it says.
“Here is a man who truly loves his wife!” it speaks loudly.
“Here is a happy husband and wife!” it joyously proclaims.
“There is safety and trust in this relationship,” it reveals.
“Peace reigns in their home.” it whispers.
…and much more.
I hold my Love’s hand every chance I get. I can’t get enough.
When I leave this earth, I want my last act to be holding my wife’s hand, looking in her eyes, and telling her how much I love her.
I wrote all this to tell you, dear reader, if you’re not holding hands often enough with your spouse now, just start. Period. There is nothing I know of that will speak more without words than this simple, intimate act.
Don’t be the one who is mourning their loved one after death saying, “I wish I had held his/her hand more.”
Be the one, like myself, who relishes in doing so every chance you get.
You’ll never regret it.
God bless you. Have a great rest of your day, my friend.