The Hands That Made Me Cry

Over the course of my life so far, I have witnessed many people raise their hands. Some to ask permission to speak in the classroom. Some to add emphasis to an exaggerated story. Some to stretch after a long day at work. But I have never been brought to tears by a raised hand until this past weekend.

I stood in front of a white folding chair grasping the back of the seat in front of me. McCall next to me on my right side and Jordan on my left in a room packed full of Jr. High and High School students. The band began to play. And the people around me sang along. I crossed my left foot over my right, balancing my body's weight on my left leg. My eyes searched across the crowd around me. The sea of faces represented many different families. Each person carried his or her own burdens and housed personal gifts. Every teenager held a story behind the secrecy in their eyes.

At that moment, I realized I could never know each story. I would never rejoice with each individual's successes or weep with them in their failures and personal sufferings. But regardless of that fact, I still cared. I cared about each student very deeply. I wanted them to each experience happiness, peace, and prosperity.

My eyes immediately focused on one boy in particular. He sat quietly beside his friend while everyone around them stood on their feet. His body slouched to one side against the back of his seat as he rested his forearm casually across his thigh. He wore round eyeglasses, a plain blue t-shirt, and blue jeans. As the band transitioned from one song to the next, the boy and his friend both stood to join the posture of the crowd. He then fidgeted his feet a little, swayed his body a couple of times, and finally balanced his weight and crossed his arms across his chest. I saw him wanting to worship. He was young, thirteen maybe, shorter than most boys his age and thin in build.

I closed my eyes and began to talk to God. I asked God to fill that boy with His Holy Spirit. To touch him. To love him. To hold him in His arms as the most precious child of God. To remind him that he is loved and adored and pursued by his Creator. That he is uniquely and beautifully made. I asked God to change him so that he may surrender every aspect of his life to our Heavenly Father. As the lead singer finished singing, "Every cry in my heart is to bring you praise from the inside out, Lord, my soul cries out from the inside out ... " I opened my eyes to find his arms lifted high and an expression of joy and trust across his face.

I still don't know who I was praying for. I don't know his name, his story, or what he was experiencing at that moment with the Lord, but I will always remember the tears that filled my eyes as I watched him worship with his own held tightly shut. I will never understand the promptings of the Holy Spirit, what made me choose him out of the crowd of people, or what it even meant in his life or even in my own. I might always remember my prayer that evening to be the most selfless prayer I have ever prayed. But I honestly believe that prayer was needed. It was a gift to me just as much, if not more, than it was possibly to him.

He is true love.

I love how there is always one specific word that explains every thing under the sun. A feeling, a place, a taste, a smell. I love to try to describe words with other words. And I see life unfold in words, long sentences carefully constructed together to say the right thing at the right time. To convey something influential, powerful, and meaningful through the use of language. But for the first time, I am stuck on one word. I try to describe it. To describe him. But I cannot find the words that serve it justice.

Something has changed inside of me. I see and experience life much differently now. I breathe deeper. I laugh longer. I smile more frequently. I am constantly challenged. Somehow his voice relaxes every anxious thought, overbooked schedule, and stressful situation. I am motivated to honor a name that's not yet my own. I am emotionally transparent. I can trust. I can feel. Frowns have disappeared. Beauty is evident. Sounds are clearer. Life has more meaning. More hope. More joy. And a bright and unpredictable future. He is the epitome of everything wonderful, everything good. Everything I never thought to look for. He brightens my days. Says the right things at exactly the right time. He completes not only my sentences but my thoughts, and then he speaks them before I'm able and sometimes before I'm willing. He reads me and understands aspects of myself that I find odd and confusing. He is excitement. He is spontaneity. And passion. He is adventure. And laughter.

I thought I knew myself. But I didn't know myself at all really. Come to find out, I like blonde hair, brown eyes, dark skin, manpris, Chacos, summer camp, lakes, Toms, the sound of jingling keys hanging from a belt loop, Velveeta shells and Doritoes, Converse in every color, v-necks, Teddy Roosevelt, Michael Jackson, hearing "do you want to hear the good news or the bad news," sharing an entree, Foggy Bottom, golden retrievers, longboards, his "on a scale of 1-10"s. But I love the way our hands fit together, laughing until I cry, being heard, taking walks, spending Christmas together, operating as a team, being understood, and his last name.

I thought I had experienced it all and knew it all, and I didn't expect to find what I did. I doubted the existence of true love and never thought to search for it. God placed it before my eyes, and I'll admit I didn't trust Him at first. I was skeptical and afraid. Even in the beginning, I saw the face of God in this handsome boy who knew how to truly live. He understood beauty the way I began writing about it in my journal when I was just sixteen years old. He came to me at the most perfect time because he is the perfect man for me. He expresses himself in a way that blows my mind. I long for him just moments after I leave his side. And my love for him cannot be properly described to anyone.

Life could never be the same now that I have met him. We can be apart. But it doesn't make sense to be. Spending Forever isn't long enough. And spending Right Now is frustrating with miles of separation, long phone calls, Skype dates, and snail mail love letters. He is the most genuine, selfless, hard-working, driven, risk-taking, humorous, entertaining, and compassionate person I know. He knows what he wants in life and fights for it. I will defend him. Trust him. Support him. And continue to thank God for him every day that I am alive. For me, true love is forever. It has the courage to point out discrepancies and sticks around to sort them out. It shows compassion. Is constantly faithful. And practices patience. For me, true love is Christopher Sidney Espinosa.