Darkness surrounds, encompasses, presses in on me. I cannot see anything near me. A rough stone surface is beneath my feet. Uneven. Unpredictable. I sense rough stone walls on either side. Surely more stone presses down from above. I’m in a tunnel. Behind me is what I knew – my life experience to date. All that is familiar, dependable. Known.
In front of me I ‘see’ only darkness.
No.
Someone walks there. A hand brushes mine.
“Hold My hand.”
I close my hand tightly around the offered one. It is strong. Callused. Bigger than mine.
He moves forward and I follow, holding tightly to this hand that guides me unerringly in the dark. He knows the way. His gentle pull is confident. He doesn’t stumble. Can He see where I cannot?
“Where are we going?”
“Hold My hand.”
“How long?”
“Hold My hand.” The voice holds humour and patience.
I get the message.
So I follow. Trusting the One whose hand I hold. The One who holds my hand in this dark, uncertain place through which I journey. His sight, His vision, His seeing where I see nothing must be enough.
Is it enough? Will I keep holding on when the journey continues long after I am desperate for light?
“Hold My hand.”
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