Revisited...

I have received a couple really nice comments on the post from the other day about church and my faith... comments that have got me thinking further on the topic, and there are a few points that I feel I left out in my original post that I want to make, if you will bear with me.

~I am in no way ashamed of, or regretful for, the childhood I had. There was much that I learned along the way that still sticks with me to this day. There is much that was good in that life. I just had to learn to keep the good and let the rest go. I had to learn to use that good to form a foundation that I can continue to build more good on.

~Although this journey is an intensely personal journey of faith, I am not on the trip alone. Mike is there with me every step of the way. Mike has been there for me every time I face a point in life when I struggled with the past, and how to move on. Mike is the one that gave me the strength to stand up and be my own person. I know that sounds contradictory, but it isn't. I needed him there to tell me that it was okay to be whoever I needed to be. In an odd, paradoxal way, his approval was what I needed to move on and learn that I don't need the approval of others. I could not do this without him, I don't want to do this without him. And at the same time, Mike is on a journey of his own, but that is his story to tell.

~I don't have all the answers for you. I don't even have all the answers for myself. I am learning, I am growing. All the Bible knowledge in the world doesn't equal spiritual maturity. I am seeking, I am craving, I am learning.

~I am not going to say that the church that we go to is the right one for everyone. That is very important to me. This church is the right one for US. This church is not the reason we are getting back to God, but it is a tool to help us along the way. The important thing is that you find what is right for you. Find a place where you can grow, where you can learn, where you can ask questions, where you can form your own faith.

Tomorrow, I think I will move back to lighter topics, and tell you about how I came to be a Blue October fan. This is important, because that story leads to the story of how Mike and I came to be a couple.

Never Stop Holding Hands

Sunday morning, as I sat in church next to Mike, he reached over and took my hand.

This is not a news flash of epic proportions.
This is not an unusual occurence.
This is not an action that shocked me.

This is the type of love that Mike and I share. We hold hands in church. He puts his hand on my leg as he is driving down the road. He puts his arm around me in the movie theater. We touch, we are reassured by the touch of the one we love. We yearn for, and thrive off of, that simple touch.

I can remember when I was a child, sitting in the back seat of the family car, and seeing my dad and mom holding hands in the front seat as we drove down the road. I can remember the kids teasing them, and one of my siblings threatening to write a book called "Hanky Panky in the Front Seat". I remember the feeling of security that I felt when I saw that joining of hands, that intertwining of fingers. The world was okay, we would be safe, our family would be secure, because Mom and Dad were holding hands. I have wondered from time to time how long prior to their divorce did they stop holding hands?

I also remember my father telling me when I saw a teenager that if you wanted your marriage to last, if you want to make sure you don't ever "fall out of love", that you have to work on it, that it takes a committment, that you have to hold onto that love with tenacity.

"Most importantly", he told me, "never stop holding hands".

It went far beyond the simple act of holding hands. He was telling me to always be the one to reach out to your husband or wife, always be willing to be there, communicate your feelings in a touch. But he was also telling me to never lose the magic of that simple communication. Never get so busy in your life that you neglect to enjoy the simple moments. There is no wealth, no house, no toys, that are worth sacrificing the surreal peace that can be found in a pair of clasped hands.

There is a magic in Mike's touch. In the greatest times of stress in my life, I have been able to escape away from it all into the grip of his hand on mine. The rest of the world can fade away until it is only his hand in mine. I know that I will be safe, I will be protected, I will be loved and cherished, and all this is communicated through my husband reaching out his hand and taking hold of mine.