The following is the product of that experience.
Your Arms
Your arms are
not like other people’s arms. Other arms
are all skin and elbows and hair. Some
of them are skinny, and some of them are flappy like mine. Some of them are big and bulging. But none of them are like yours. Yours are covered with strength and
support. The muscles inside of them are
made of warmth and comfort. They’re
prickly with love instead of hair. Other
arms wrap you up with hugs and shoulders.
Your arms make a home where I am always welcome and can feel the joyful
sensation of belonging. Your arms are
attached to your hands. Just like your
arms, your hands are not like other people’s hands either. Other people’s hands can be dry and scratchy
like when you’re washed them too much.
Other’s people’s hands can be slippery and hard to hold on to like
they’ve just bathed them in oil. Other’s
people’s hands can be grabby, always searching for something to snatch up and
cling to. Other’s people’s hands can be
shy, never actually touching yours but wishing they could and wanting you to
make the first move. Other people’s
hands can hurt. They form fists and
slaps and pointing fingers, their only intention to bring pain and take away
pleasure. But your hands don’t do
that. Your hands are not perfect in
appearance, but in them is the fulfillment of perfection. Your hands are always inviting, waiting for
me to accept your invitation. You have
taken my hand in your many times, but never forced me to keep holding on. But I have.
I’ve held on so many times through the bad and the ugly. I’ve tried to hold on, despite the messages
of the world and the thoughts that try to penetrate my faith. Why are
you still holding on? Why don’t you just
let go? Why don’t you just do what you
know will bring results? Why do you dare
to think that there’s something better for you? These thoughts are hard sometimes and it
takes me a while to push them away.
While they’re in my mind, I can’t move forward, but you’re patient with
me. You know that it’s hard for me,
because you’ve done it before. Fighting
past the thoughts, I can continue to endure and press forward with you leading
me on. Your imperfectly perfect hands
and arms are not the only parts of you.
My favorite is your eyes. I don’t
know what color they are. Maybe blue
like mine? Probably brown; the same kind
of brown that just makes you feel close and warm. But even if they’re not really brown, I do
know one thing I’ll find in them: love.
When one day I can see your face again and look into your eyes as you
look into mine, I’ll see your excitement that I kept holding on, even though it
was hard. I’ll see your joy from all the
times I didn’t falter and none of the disappointment for the times I did. I’ll see your love that has been there for me
all along and that has made me feel important, even when no one else said I
was. I’ll feel the home of your embrace,
celebrating the light that envelopes me, never again to leave.
 |
| https://istandallamazed.wordpress.com/tag/comfort/ |
