I Will Hold Your Hand

The warrior squinted across the shimmering heat of the battlefield, eyes blurred with sweat and blood. The fight he had entered for the love of his king had become a fight for his life, and he was alone -- alone in a sea of foes. He could remember nothing now but the violence he had endured, and could endure no longer. He swayed as the dark swarm of enemies advanced, and his hand trembled, dropping his sword. His legs gave way, and the empty quiver rattled against his back as he fell to his knees. Suddenly, a strong arm encircled him from behind, raising him to his feet again. A voice he knew well spoke in his ear, "Fear not, I will help you."

"My lord!" the warrior cried, and new vigor entered him as he remembered the one he served. He willed himself to stand, but his quivering fingers could not hold the weapon that lay in the dust. He felt shame for his weakness, but his king stood beside him, took his shaking right hand in a kind and firm grasp, and turned toward the enemy, holding his own sword aloft. The warrior took up his shield, sheltering himself between it and his king. He heard the shouts and cries of the battle, but they seemed far away -- nothing mattered but the hand that stilled the trembling of his own. When he opened his eyes, all was still. He scanned the battlefield once more: not one foe remained. Again he fell to his knees, this time in wordless gratitude to the one he fought for, the one who fought for him.

For I, the Lord your God,

will hold your right hand,

saying to you,

'Fear not, I will help you.'

Isaiah 41:13

Friends . . . and Family

Many years ago, two fathers paced expectantly in the waiting room of a Southern California hospital.  Both of their wives were laboring to bring a child into the world, and as the two husbands waited impatiently for the moment they would see their offspring, they struck up a conversation that would lead to a lifelong friendship.  One of the two men, a pastor, welcomed a daughter that day.  The other, a restaurant owner, welcomed a son.  Years passed, and the friendship between the families grew.  Then the pastor moved his family to Oregon.  They did not forget their friends in California; in fact, they invited them to join them in the lovely Willamette Valley.  So the restaurant owner and his family packed up and headed north as well, where they started a successful new restaurant.

Meanwhile, a college girl in South Dakota was bored.  That is, she didn't have any plans.  She had another bored friend, and they had one friend who had moved to Oregon.  This friend invited them to join her in the lovely Willamette Valley.  So they packed up their cars and headed west.  The college girl needed a job, so her friend told her about a restaurant that was hiring -- a new one owned by a Californian.  The college girl got the job, and she met up with the restaurant owner's son.  It wasn't long before they fell in love, then they got married, and the pastor who was there the day the son was born happily officiated at the wedding.

The restaurant owner's son and the college girl are none other than my parents.  Through their friends, God brought them from their widely separated homelands and introduced them to each other . . . and here I am!  God is splendidly creative, and there is no detail that doesn't tie into the story He writes for each of us, from one's birthdate to a wild "why not?" whim.  Very often, He uses our relationships with others to shape our own lives -- how might He be using you in the story of someone else?

 

And in Your book they all were written,

The days fashioned for me,

When as yet there were none of them.

Psalm 139:16