His Hands.

  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.