I've Got You
I’d forgotten that Mama likes to hold hands. Not that I’d remember the iron grip that steadied me as a toddler learning to walk or the one that kept me from running headlong into danger’s path. I was too young then for such memories to stick.
The first real memory I have of Mama taking my hand was during Sunday services in our little country church in Marcoot. While the preacher’s message echoed off the wooden pews and shook the stained glass windows, Mama would slip her hand over mine. I still remember the feel of her skin, soft and warm, and the curl of her fingers against my palm. I didn’t understand it at the time, but in those moments, her touch became a tangible expression of God’s love for me. That calm sense of security lingers with me still.
When I became a teenager, Mama and I developed a close relationship. We enjoyed each other’s company and often spent Saturday’s at the mall, shopping and laughing and people-watching. More times than not, we’d end the day with ice cream from Swensen’s. As we strolled past shop windows, and talked about what we liked and didn’t like, Mama often slipped her hand into mine. I’ll admit to feeling awkward about holding hands in public at that age. I wondered who might notice and tried to decide whether I cared or not. In the end, Mama’s grip proved stronger than my teenage insecurities. During a period in my life when I was trying to figure out who I was and where I fit in the world, her hand on mine said, “I’ve got you.”
“For I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand; it is I who says to you, ‘Fear not, I will help you’”
Our relationship with God is like that. He holds our hand when we lose our footing. In the darkness, He’s there to keep us from wandering into harm’s way. His hand on ours reminds us of who we are and assures us that we belong. His touch speaks the words we long to hear. “I’ve got you.”
Mama and I are much older now. I’m in my golden years, and she’s an octogenarian. Not long ago, Mama took a tumble and broke her wrist. Since then, she’s reached for my hand on several occasions. With one arm in a cast, she feels unsteady, out of sorts, and maybe, a little afraid of the changes that have been thrust upon her. It occurs to me we’ve returned to a place in our relationship that’s familiar, yet, fundamentally different. Now, I’m the one who needs to give her something solid to hold onto, to lead the way ahead. It’s my turn to be a tangible expression of God’s love and tender care. I feel the weight of this responsibility and wonder if I’m up to the task. We’ve never walked this road before.
As I feel my way through this new season, I think I understand more fully now than I ever have before that even as Mama held me, she was holding onto Jesus. On my own, I’m not capable of being strong or wise or comforting. Only when I place my hand in His, can I hold onto Mama with a confidence that says, “I’ve got you,” because I know He’s got me.