By Jenny Albers 
His hands held mine.
In the deep, low valleys,
And over the highest peaks.
Through the violent storms,
And under the clear, inviting sky.
His hands held mine.
When my heart was breaking,
And there was no remedy.
When life pulled me under,
His hands pulled me back up.
His hands held mine.
When I wanted to run away,
Because the hurdles seemed too high.
Those hands clasped mine
And together we leaped.
His hands held mine.
When the leaping resulted in falling,
And our hearts were broken open.
When we chose to love each other,
Before loving them.
And now,
His hands hold theirs.
When danger looms,
In an uncertain world.
His hands clasp theirs,
And pull them to safety.
His hands hold theirs.
When their own deep valleys,
Are saturated with tears.
When their little hearts,
Hold big hurts.
His hands hold theirs.
Through the pouring rain,
And the thick mud.
He carries them to dry ground,
His hands wrapping them in warmth.
His hands hold theirs.
When their stomachs are unsettled,
And the future is unclear.
When the only answer to their questions,
Is love.
Even at our most unlovely.
And how blessed we are.
This article originally appeared on A Beautifully Burdened Life by Jenny Albers
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