Today as I held onto his hand & yours while we prayed, I saw him
cry. Whether it was because he is sending off two of his daughters to
Italy for two weeks or because he was holding onto his youngest
daughter’s hand, as she held the hand of the man she’ll someday call her
husband.
{I found myself in the middle of two very strong hands.}
My father’s hands: the hands that held me when I let out my first
cry when he delivered me. Hands that carried the tininess of his
children to bed every night. The hands that have held the hand of his
bride for 34 years. They are the hands that work tirelessly, day in
& day out to be able to provide for his family. These are the hands
I’ve held onto for 23 years.
Then there’s his hands: the hands that have gently held mine since
July twentieth. When I catch a glimpse of his hands I see the strength
in them. Those same hands will someday place a ring on my left hand,
never to be taken off. They are the hands that become black & dirty
because of car repairs & manly work, yet they are gentle enough to
someday carry me over the threshold of our first home together. The
hands that will someday hold our children for the first time, right
after they’re welcomed into this world.
Today I stood between the two most important men in my life. I held
onto both of their hands for as long as I could & as I did I felt
the urge to comfort my father, yet cling to my future groom as well.
Here I am, twenty-three years old & I know his face. I know
that the dimples in his cheeks appear when I walk into his view. I know
his laugh & how it gets louder when he makes me laugh. I know that
he prefers silence & cuddles in the car when we drive. I know the
name of the man that will someday hold the title of my husband.
It’s no longer hidden or only heard in dreams. He’s my reality. He’s my person & best friend.
{He’s the man of my prayers.}
Hannah grace.
