Held

*This is what it means to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We’d be held

It all falls. Eyes dart around frantically, desperately;  looking,  longing. Why? I’d held it in my arms so well. It rested there so safely, so snugly, in the clutches of my control. I liked it that way. Never mind that I was tired.

I bend down to pick it up—all of it, before it crashes, to stuff it back where it belongs: my arms. And I can’t grasp a single thing. It’s then that I glance at my hands, and see that He’s holding them. He pulls me to standing and brings my hands to His face, placing them on His cheeks. With His nail-pierced hands, He cups mine. I look down, and everything is swimming, swirling, out of place and unsafe. He tilts my chin upward, and I see Him. I look in His eyes; I am transfixed. I am held. I am loved. And I know. He’s here, just as He promised.

He bends down, scoops it all up before it hits, and slings it onto His back: where it really belongs. He bears my burdens, and yet He stands tall. He doesn’t grow weary like I did.

I bend down, too, and pick up what He’s left at my feet: His yoke. I slip my shoulders underneath it and stand back up, with ease. It is light. I marvel; I revel; I rest. So this is what I’ve been missing. This is what it’s supposed to be like. This is why He told me.

He turns around to walk forward, away from the place He met me with full arms and clenched teeth and tired eyes. With now-empty hands, I grab hold of His garment, like a child grabs hold of her mama’s skirt. Where He goes, I will go. And I know. I know He’s just enough ahead to lead, and close enough to remain by my side. I know that if I let go and start to pick the pieces off His back and carry them myself, He’ll turn around. He’ll gently peel my limbs away from around those things, leaving them to fall. And I’ll remember all over again that they’re safest, and I’m freest, when I let them fall back into His hands.

*”Held” by Natalie Grant

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