Held All Of Me.

"All I want is a man strong enough to hold my hand."

I sat in the car weeping, driving Kate and Kelsey back from a day in Charleston. My heart wrenching, reminiscing about an experience a couple weeks before. I had told a guy about the awful experiences of that year, and all he did was stare back down at as plate, wordless and awkward.

Tears tumbled down my cheeks like Victorian Falls, my breath hiccuping in-between. And my words were thought and sovereign: "All I need is a man strong enough to hold my hand. He doesn't have to have the right things to do, or the right things to say, just sit with me and hold my hand while I go through it." My friends listened intently, with earnest, and the words trailed with me for months of roads to come.

Mark and I sat on his couch, side by side. I was clear-eyed, but thinking. I knew he needed to know. He needed to receive the all of me, the inmost of me. So I looked at him and said, "I don't know if you already know this, but my mom died."

He was quiet, compassionate, listening. His arms came around, pulling me close, encircling me. I could feel the warmth of his body, his tenderness like soft caress, his emotions meeting and caring for mine.

I explained parts of the story, details of the day, the unraveling years since then. His hands smoothed my shoulders, his fingers softening away my tears, his heart listening to mine.

I prayed for a man strong enough to hold my hand. But the Lord gave me more. A man who:

Held all of me.