I saw the hand, but I wouldn’t take it. To me it was ugly, fearful, even threatening. It had a gaping hole in it, and I feared that if I made contact, the same might happen to me. I couldn’t see the face attached to it. I could only see the hand. I didn’t know where to go, what to do. There was darkness all around, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I took another step forward, I would fall into a deep abyss. Death itself may have been waiting for me at the bottom if I trudged ahead. My fear kept me stationary, and my confusion made me blind. I forgot about the hand reaching through the blackness. I put an imaginary wall before me so I would not have to look at it, so I could keep making excuses for why it was so hard to move forward. I didn’t want to take the hand or let it touch me, for fear of the unknown.
So I simply did not do anything.
Until my longings surfaced. I yearned for freedom, wanted inspiration. I began to dream. I even imagined myself doing things I never thought I could do—dancing, flying, speaking and making dead things come to life.
And I saw the hand again. Its appearance had not changed, but I felt as though it was an opportunity this time. It was a chance to be free, to move forward. I feared the gaping hole still, because I didn’t want to catch that painful disease. But I felt a deep sadness as I thought of how I might be missing out on the greatest opportunity of my life—on the chance to fulfill the dreams in my spirit.
So I took the hand in faith.
But I still could not see the face.
I took a few steps forward, breathing in deeply, relieved and excited that I did not fall to my death, that maybe good things did wait for me further on. I took small steps, each a risk in itself, reminding myself to hang onto the hand whatever happened. Yet at times I let go, and still I tried to take steps forward, but they were strained, my heart was heavy, and I constantly felt like giving up or beating myself up because I wasn’t doing good enough.
But the hand did not disappear.
So I would take it again and keep walking, this time freer than before.
Soon I found I was not satisfied. I was tired of walking in this darkness, doing the same things over and over, only seeing and feeling the hand and not the rest of who it belonged to. So I began to speak. I asked this unknown person to show himself. I wanted to know who he was, in reality, not just making up my own perceptions of what I thought he was like.
When I asked him, he spoke.
He said, “I have always been with you. I am your Creator. I am the originator of your dreams and your longings. You cannot do this without me.”
I marveled at the tender but strong words and gradually let the imaginary wall down. I wanted to see all of him. I wanted to see what he was doing, so maybe I could do it too.
The wall came down.
I saw his face.
His eyes were deep. They seemed to reach into my soul and whisper reassurance. His hands were strong. They held me close to his chest to I could hear his heart beating. His heart beat to a steady rhythm. There was no fear in this man, only love. Love emanated from his being and slowly worked its way into my own heart. I never wanted to leave him, and I never wanted him to leave me. As if responding to my thoughts, he gently said,
“I won’t.”
I wept.
I wept because I realized that all this time, I had feared the absence of his presence. But even when I rejected his hand, or denied it was there to lead me or help me, he didn’t leave. Even when it hurt to stand still or to move on, or when I hated myself for being such a loser, he never left. And the gaping holes in his hands told me that he meant what he said.
Over time, I began to watch him more. I could see him dancing, flying, speaking to giants and mountains and making them move, healing broken hearts with soft touches.
Then he called me to do something new. Something I wanted deeply in my heart but yet was unsure if I was able to execute.
He did it before I ever had to.
Then he said, “It’s your turn, daughter.”
And he smiled.
That was all I needed.
