This is What it Means to be Held...

Back in September, when my little nephew would have celebrated his 21st birthday, I had a granite heart etched with the lyrics to Natalie Grant's song "Held." I wanted to take something to his grave that would serve as a testimony of what his life did in mine. I was only ten when he was stillborn, and it was the first time in my life that I had to hit real life head-on and learn just how God went about working amid tragedy.

I have this picture hanging on my freezer door, and this afternoon when I got some ice, i took a good look at it. (You know how it goes with fridge clutter...you see it so often you forget to see it.)

Yesterday, as I wrote in my post, unglued me. And after work, I decided I couldn't go home. Needed to be out somewhere. Anywhere. So I shopped (unsuccessfully,I might add) for a while and then went to a friend's house.

Had a complete meltdown about two hours into my visit. No warning. Just kind of a flash flood sort of situation. I knew I'd be fine. I always am. I cry it out for a few minutes and then I move on. But something totally unexpected happened during that meltdown.

I was held.

Literal arms wrapped around me until I was cradled like a baby, and then I was gently rocked back and forth while I cried. Snot everywhere. Mascara everywhere. Sobbing that turned so labor intensive that it eventually mixed with sweat and became impossible to distinguish between the two. It really wasn't pretty. And yet the tight hold of a hug did not let go until I no longer gasped for air.

When I looked at the picture today, it seemed more real than just words etched in stone. It wasn't some abstract thing. It was real. With arms. I love it when God sends arms.