Love says, “It hurts. Open your hand.”

Yesterday she stood over an open casket laced with flowers. The internal tidal wave of emotion barely constrained by the dam of social pressure and personal expectation. This was goodbye. There were no more relational choices to be made, no more opportunities to be had, no more knowing to discover. As the flowers were being removed an overwhelming desire to say “hello” was met by the crushing need to say “goodbye” and her heart tightened in her chest so she could barely breathe.

And then a little hand slipped into hers, and for a moment she was grounded from the crashing waves inside her heart that threatened to consume her. “Mama, saying goodbye hurts; I’m here to hold your hand.” It’s harder to open her hand then to keep it closed, but she knows she must and she will be better for it.

Today she’ll lay on a cold sterile bed, alone, eyes starting at the florescent lights blinking on the ceiling, wondering and trying not to wonder as they probe, and it beeps, and she sighs. Her heart will pound loudly in her ears as she remembers and imagines unspoken possibilities. She will apologize and be quiet, and apologize again. She will breathe deeply and fight the internal battle to quiet her trembling limbs.

And then a solitary walk down a brightly lit hallway and a knowing smile at the end says, “I know it hurts; I’m here to hold your hand.” And for a moment she is grounded from the swirling thoughts making her mind dizzy. It’s harder to open her heart and be seen then to keep it closed, but she knows she must and she will be better for it.

Tomorrow she’ll walk across a stage, a crowd staring, applauding and wondering how she’d accomplished it. And she’ll wonder too as she fights insecurities and doubts and wrestles with the realities and truths that brought her to this very moment. The lights will be hot and the music will swell and she will gasp to breathe in the fullness of the moment while scanning the crowd for her few.

The few who know when her heart breaks even if it doesn’t show.
The few who know when her internal battles rage.
The few who applaud from a place of knowing the very fullness of the moment.

And she’ll catch a glimpse of her few and their open hands that wave and clap and have been there along the way. And for a moment she is will be grounded. They’ve known when it’s hurt; They’ve been there to hold her hand.  It’s been harder to open her hand then to keep it closed, but she knows she’s been better for it.

But she must bravely open her hand,She must bravely trust again. She must.  Because this bravery hurts, it feels, it knows, but this bravery is where life is, it’s where the love is. Love says, open your hands and feel my hurt. Love says, I’ll open my hands and you’ll find healing. (John 20:27 MSG). Again and again, and again, yesterday, today and tomorrow.