Member-only story
A Hand to Hold
Observations from the Other Side
Sunday, I sat in church, alone. I don’t mind being alone. I love seeing the families, the couples, the single moms. I love seeing who shows up to share that time together, to sing, to pray for each other, to love God together. It’s a moment I don’t miss, if I can manage it.
There is new couple at church. They are newly retired and live in farm country, south of town. Her smile is big and enveloping. His nature is quiet and kind. Something about them draws my attention.
This Sunday, they have brought their two, young grandchildren-a fiery red-headed 6-year-old and a quiet, responsible 9-year-old. They are beautiful. Grandma and Grandpa are proud grandparents. It’s so easy to see.
They place the children between them with their books, their crayons and paper. And then, in the middle of the sermon, it happens. He reaches out his arm, on the top of the pew, to her. She raises her arm to rest on the top of the pew and their hands meet.
It was silent and so sweet. My eyes teared up a little. I don’t remember having those days as a married woman, with small children. I don’t remember the touches, the affection and attention of a man. He always had a book in his hands. I had children in mine. It was not like this. Sadly, it was not like this.
