One week spend handless, kind of: Thoughts on marriage both human and divine

My wife drove away last Tuesday. I didn’t shed a tear. I was excited she would get to be with her family, even if it meant we would be apart for about a week.
The first night was rough. Our bed didn’t feel quite right. I was so lonely. I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep some time before daybreak.
The next day our family’s new routine settled in. Sure, we talked about eating spaghetti and even going to Arby’s on Friday. I told the kids to watch the Goonies move now, before Mom returns. But the thrill of doing things she didn’t like—even snacking constantly on chips dipped in salsa right out of the jar—waned quickly.
By the weekend I was calculating. I had taken some trips by myself over the years that ponly lastest four to five days. “I’d be home already,” I’d tell myself, and then I’d look at the calendar and see that her trip was only halfway complete.
Early in the next week denial had set in. I slept better. I read a whole lot more in the evening than usual. We ate even more spaghetti. It’s almost like she was never here. Almost.
The night before she returned I was restless on my newly washed sheets. It’s like I’d forgotten even what she looked like. Pictures weren’t enough. I’d forgotten her voice. Phone calls were underwhelming. You can’t hug a picture.
I once sat with one of our church’s widows. Her husband died a while back and now her brother had just lost his wife. In our fallen world God has somehow wired us to reflect on our previous losses whenever a new one comes around. It’s a kind of comparison that helps us tell ourselves that we can get through this loss too. I asked her how her time with her brother had been. She replied, “I told him before she died to hold that nice warm hand for as long as he could.”
I went home that afternoon and took my wife’s hand and held it tight. I find myself holding that nice warm hand more and more these day, and of all the things I’ve missed this week I’ve missed that the most. That connection. That bond. That reminder that I’m not alone.
One week feels so long, I couldn’t imagine a year, a decade, or more.
Why is it that so many of us as God’s people go weeks, months, or even years without seeking out God’s companionship? Our hands gradually grow cold, but our hearts got cold first. To his wayward people, Israel, God says, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you” (Isa 41:13). Take hold of that powerful, merciful, gracious, and loving hand. And never let it go, for when it took on our flesh and blood it defeated death. It will defeat loneliness too if you’ll let it.
Pick up a Bible. Say a prayer. Come to the Lord’s table with the church. And reconnect with the church's bridegroom. His hand is forever warm.