Hold My Hand

Yesterday I went out for lunch for with a friend. We chatted for a few hours, but one of his comments keeps replaying in my head. He told me, "I don't need anyone to hold my hand." It's a phrase we use to communicate that we can get by without much coddling or assistance from others. I know because I've used it several times. Speaking for myself, I've realized that it is a partial lie, a cover for what really lies inside me. These eight words contain the very essence of Western thought: independance.

We establish our independance in several ways. One of those ways is our response to physical touch and the perimetres of our personal space. From culture to culture, preferred distance between persons varies widely. All I have to say to some of my Bolivian friends is "Bubble, you're in my bubble" and they know to back off a bit or they invade even closer to make me really uncomfortable. One American brother in Christ told me of his experience in Africa. During a several hour walk with a male pastor, the brother held his hand for the entire time! Brennan Manning recounts the time he went to visit an Amish farm. As he got out of his car, a severely retarded member of the family, whom he had never met before, flung himself at Brennan, wrapped his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist, and kissed him on the lips for a full thirty seconds. Brennan says he was "temporarily stunned and terribly self-conscious".

What makes physical interaction such an area of unease for some of us? Is it too intimate? Too sexual? Most girls at El Cristo Viene crave physical touch, but one flinches everytime I try to place my hand on her arm or reach out to caress her face. Clearly, her evaluation of human touch equals pain, abuse, and broken trust. Still, that's not the story behind most our avoidance.

Our fear of physical touch is reduced to what it might imply. If I grab your arm or place mine across your shoulders, what might I be communicating to you? Especially if you were of the opposite sex. A man of great authority and wide renown was once shown an unabashed PDA (public display of affection) by a women of repungnant reputation. She threw herself at his feet, drenched them with perfume and tears, then dried them with the loose tendrils of her hair. Instead of worrying about appearances, this admirable man made it clear that this action was beautiful. Instead of diminishing the display, he determined that thoughout the world, what she had done would be known and told in memory of her (Matthew 26:10,13).

Quite honestly, I don't think I'll ever be the gushy, over-sentimental type. Still, I want to be less of a stiff and more of a sap. Shortly after my first return from Bolivia, I was watching my brother and realized how much I had missed him and loved him. I walked over and planted a kiss on the top of his head. Leaping from the chair, he exclaimed,"What the heck are you doing? Is that some kind of Bolivian thing?" Perhaps my attempts to be more affectionate should be preluded by a verbal warning.

I have been "seized by the power of a great affection" and no longer find my value in the presence or opinions of others, but I still need you to hold my hand. I can do a lot of things on my own, without much supervision or input, but the journey is so much sweeter when you drape your arm around my shoulders and walk by my side.