Hold Me

By: Angela Gillaspie © January 2000

"Hold me," my baby says as his chubby little arms reach up toward me. I pick him up and squeeze him to my chest, loving the hurt from him. He hugs me back tightly as the pain of his bumped leg flows away.

"Hold me," my son cries when his brother refused to share a toy. He curls himself into my lap, pressing his tender face into the hollow of my neck. I turn and bury my nose in his hair as I cling to my sobbing child. His pain ebbs away and the crying becomes snubs.

"Hold me," my daughter weakly said when the flu raised her temperature to over 102°. She is almost as big as I am, but I still pull her into my lap and stroke her hair and kiss her burning forehead. For this moment, she is fully contented to be in my arms.

"Hold me," I said to my husband when I found out that our baby died inside me. He wrapped his large loving arms around me and held me tight making me feel as if there was nothing else in this whole world but his love for me. I clung to him not wanting this embrace to ever end.

"Hold me!" my daughter screamed one night as imaginary monsters chased her in her dreams. She clawed at me and then melted into my open arms as the terror of her dreams were slowly forgotten.

"Hold me," my husband sniffed when our son was wheeled into surgery. Swaying in the hallway, we clung to each other praying for a successful outcome (which happened).

The mere power of being held by a loved one can soothe the tempest of pain and fear.

"Hold me," I pray to God at night. Knowing that I am in the grip of my Creator gives me comfort and recharges my soul making me ready to hold someone again.

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