What follows is a column I wrote in 2006.  It saw the light of day in another publication.

Thanks goes out to all the prayers and well-wishes my family has received following the death of my grandmother.  Personally, I am still having a hard time being convinced she is gone.   I half expect her to come waddling around the corner propped up on her ‘Hurry Cane’.  But…I know…that is not going to happen.

I read this piece again tonight for the first time in YEARS!  At the time, Carrie and I were taking care of her grandparents.

Yes…football fans…I know…I was 6 good picks and 4 bad picks this past college football weekend.  Here is what I am going to do.  I will pick the conference championship games this weekend….and the Army-Navy game….and maybe a few FCS games to get ten games picked out of the deal.  Then, when all the bowl games are matched up, including the mythical 4 team playoff, I will pick all the bowl games at once for good measure.  This is a risk.  We don’t know who is going to get hurt, or stabbed, or decide to join a monastery between now and bowl season time.  So be it.  I will be a man about it and stick by my picks!  So far this season I have 105 winners and 35 losers.  I am not disappointed.

I hope you enjoy the following:

It Pays to Hold Hands

Carrie, my dear wife, and I were sitting at a table in an urban eatery recently.  We had placed our order and were waiting patiently.  We can do that, Carrie and I; we can easily wait patiently because it’s not about the wait.  It’s about spending time together.  That may sound like an audition for a greeting card commercial, but it’s true.  Circumstances called our life have rendered us, Carrie and me, precious little time together in the last few years.  Caring for folks whom can no longer care for themselves will do that to you.

So there we were, quietly enjoying each other’s company when the manager of the restaurant came bounding over to our table.  He was a tall man with a neatly trimmed mustache.

“Here’s a coupon for five dollars off your meal because I caught to the two of you holding hands” he said.

“Thanks” is what I said back to him.  Then I thought, I wonder if the old boy would give me a ten-dollar coupon if I gave her a kiss on the mouth.  Alas, I decided not to press my luck or my lips.  The five-dollar coupon was a kind gesture.  I really appreciated it.

Carrie made mention that holding hands is a very involuntary thing between the two of us.  Without thinking about it, I agreed.

Hand-holding is a time-honored tradition.  When I was a kid handholding was the second public sign that you were sweet on a girl.  The first sign was standing closer to a girl than normal while being seen with each other more than absolutely necessary.  After this, hand-holding was sure to come later.  Next was pushing a girl on a swing on the playground.  Speaking of which, not long ago I crossed paths with the first girl I ever kissed on the playground.  I started to speak to her, knowing she graduated high school with friends I had kept up with over the years.  I spoke authoritatively about Jerry Brown, a dear friend and Mike Warren, another old crony and Mark “Great” Brittain.  Inquisitively, she looked at me and asked, “Do I know you?”

There’s just something about feeling the pulse of another hand in yours.  Plus, it’s convenient.  Hands were made to join.  But more than that, there is a great deal of significance in dealing with the hand.  The hand is what feeds us.  The hand is how we express ourselves non-verbally.  Those love notes have to be written somehow.  And it just feels good.

I enjoy shaking the hands of old friends when we see each other for the first time in a long time.  That’s special.

Playing music at church is good times and so are the times when we gather hands and pray.  Hands brought together in prayer are strong hands.  I always think it’s cool when the prayer is over and the one who is holding my hand gives it an extra squeeze at the end to punctuate the amen just delivered. Amen.

Last night I was totally taken aback by a hand-holding ceremony.  I was visiting the home of a ten-year-old boy who is the son of a friend of mine’s cousin.  The boy had surgery today.  Last night I was asked to lead a prayer for the boy.  His chemotherapy-deprived hair could not diminish the smile attached to his face or eyes that danced in time with each of us in the room.  So, so special.

We gathered around the boy’s bed and before I began to offer prayer, out from under his covers came the boy’s two arms extending his hands to those on his immediate right and left.  We all joined hands.  I prayed.  Today that boy had a large portion of one lung removed.  I’m still praying.  And I’m still seeing the smile on a face that has more trust and strength and hope than any other ten guys I know.

You could say, yes, but the boy doesn’t know any better.

I say he does.  I say we just think we know more.

Remember the old Beatles song I Want to Hold Your Hand?  It really is “such a feeling”…

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson