In His Grip

In His Grip

I can’t let go, I can’t let go—

I know there are times when I tried to.

When my fingers loosened, his tightened.

He’s holding my hand, my hand—

I feel like a child, being led to a place I do not know.

Sometimes I’m indignant, but he patiently leads.

He’s dragging me, dragging me!

I don’t want to go! I refuse!

He is gentle, yet firm despite my stubbornness.

He holds my hand in the pain, my struggles.

I’ve stumbled and bumped my knee, I’m crying in my hurt.

He is still holding my hand and his other’s on my shoulder.

I’m trying to break loose, to escape!

I’ve forgotten the hand; I’ve pretended it doesn’t exist.

He allows me my freedom, to make my own mistakes.

And then I remember his hand, is it still there?

It is. How could he still hold onto me?

Does he know what I’ve done? Does he know my shame?

I tell him I’m ready again—and he smiles.

He’s leading me again, this time I’m keeping up.

I’m running and its alright because he’s right beside me.

I can’t let go, I don’t know how.

Because He doesn’t know how to let go of me.