Holding a Hand

I sat by her bed, occupying most of the front living room floor space. We talked about what was and is to be, the rain shower of life’s blessings, and the loneliness of the final days.

The same scene had been played out in the same room 18 months earlier. The only difference in that part of history was that it was her husband who was lying in the bed and she sat in one of the chairs to his left side. I wrote about that experience in another blog post entitled “Sitting Bedside With Someone Waiting For Glory”, and it was a visit punctuated with roars of laughter.

This time we chuckled about the memories of that time, but mostly, we talked about being blessed and being ready to join Jesus. Sixty-four years of marriage had been followed by the last year of physical pain and relational grieving. She wanted to be laid to rest next to her beloved. She longed for the warmth of his closeness underneath the cold earth.

There is a sweetness in such sorrow. When God blesses a romance with a long journey in which their hands are held together in support and prayerful agreement, the end is tear-filled. Like honey dripped onto a dry piece of plain white bread, the final chapter brings sweet completion to the void.

A modern-day version of  Song of Solomon with the Lover and his Beloved, rarely have I seen two kindred spirits in such a harmony of marriage.

We talked about what comes next and then I took her hand in mine and prayed for the peace of her final breaths. In a time when it is safe to stay socially-distanced and not risk touch, holding the hand of this saint was the ointment for our aching goodbye.

person holding hand

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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2 Comments on “Holding a Hand”

  1. mbmankin Says:

    Beautifully written, Bill! So glad you had that time with one another.


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