Holding Your hand.

When I let go of my grasp, you continued to fiddle with my fingers. Even when my hand went limp, you kept holding on. Every time I thought you would release me, it was but for a deceptive moment, before you fondled my hand to find another position you could entwine my fingers into yours. Our palms were sweaty but it didn't bother you one bit. Our fingers were entangled with one another. And then, when you lopped my hand onto your chest, these funny, fuzzy warm feelings started coursing up my hand and arm like a lush rush of liquor and entered my heart as you leaned into me. Your body was so warm. It was as if you planned to take my hand captive.

I liked that.

At Sunday school, the children I teach like to take my hand. Today, as we sang and danced, one of you darlings took my hand and held it throughout the session, lightly, gingerly and yet, so faithfully. When you got tired, you simply tossed my hand to your bosom so you could still hang on to it loosely.

You never let me go.

Today, my fracture site hurt. It hurt when I sit and when I stood. I think the pain has become more pronounced only because I have become more aware of it. I thought about the intensity of my personality, what J had spoken to me and warned me about- that it is both my greatest strength and weakness; I thought about how the fracture could possibly have happened; I thought about the ways I could've possibly grieved God with my own self-striving attitude.

All this while, He never let me go. Even as I ran away, time and again, because I wanted more control, because I thought I knew better, because I wanted to be sure I could hit the mark, He never let me go. He never chained my hands or gripped them cruelly. But up or down, swayed left or right, He always held my hand, lightly, gingerly, even when my grasp went limp.

Holding hands is a 2-person thing, isn't it. It is tiring to hold on to a hand which doesn't cooperate. It is hard to love someone who doesn't love you back. But even when I let go today, my little child never let my hand go. She just played with it, wanted a sense of being close to me.

My heart is not completely surrendered. There are days I still want to keep doing things, to keep my time occupied, when I know you have asked me to rest, to pray, to simply be. Even then you are patient. You could choose to dispose of me- surely you can afford it. But you are furiously in love with me, with us, how could you bear it?

A friend told me about the story of a shepherd, who loved his sheep so much that he had to break a leg of one of them because it kept straying. If he had not done so, it would have gone astray and got eaten by a wolf. Yet, it was the injured one which grew closest to the shepherd.

The doctor said, no races for 9 months. That's about the duration from now till my final exams- it's not a lot of time if you think about what I've missed out on because of my illness. I always prayed that you would tell me when to stop, when to let go; I often prayed you would help me cling loosely to all my possessions, especially my bike which I love; I prayed hard you would help me to be a competent, compassionate and professional doctor. I guess, with this fracture, you answered all my prayers, in the most perfect and painful way. In some way, you broke my leg, too. Call me crazy, but it makes me love you more.

Pain is sweet. This is a different sort of pain for a different season.

Thank you for reminding me, that in spite of it all, you are always there, ever so patient with our repeated failings. When will you tire of my rebellion.

So God, help me to be still. Help me to stop doing things, to stop running away.

I just want this moment to savour, just to hold your hand, too.

" Thus my heart was grieved...

I was so foolish...

Nevertheless I am continually with You;

You hold me by my right hand.

You will guide me with Your counsel,

And afterward receive me to glory."

-Psalm 21-24