When No One Touches Me

 It was a class field trip for a religion class my freshman year of college. My classmates and I were walking around Buddhist shrines when this guy suddenly said something and put his hand on me.

 I can’t remember what he said to me. All I remember is that as he was speaking there was a very strong but quiet whimper inside of me saying, “Please let go.”

When he touched me, I realized something about myself that I had never known. I liked his touch. I liked it too much. And he had only touched my shoulder.

 Fast forward to a month ago. I was catching up with one of my guy friends I hadn’t seen in months. For some reason he touched me. Not inappropriately, just a friendly touch. Maybe it showed on my face because then he chivalrously asked me if that was okay.

 I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I told him the truth. “It’s fine,” I said. “I just usually avoid touching the opposite gender in any way because I like it a little too much.”

 As you have probably guessed, physical touch is very important to me. It is my second highest love language only behind quality time simply because physical touch can be quality time.

 It is the hardest part about living away from home, away from my family who will hug me every day. It is the hardest part about being single.

 There were times I didn’t know what to do. God had given me the desire for physical touch and it was good, but it was something he was withholding from me. I longed for a guy’s strong arms around me, a hug from a friend, or the tight grip of a child holding my hand. But none of this was mine. How could this be part of God’s good plan for me?

 Second Corinthians 12:9 says, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” My weakness, my need for physical touch, is what God is currently using to bring me to Himself, and how much more satisfying is my Savior?

 I remember one night at school crying in my bed without knowing why. Nothing bad had happened that day. I wasn’t pmsing. And then I realized, no one touched me, today.

 But then as I cried harder I began a plea, a prayer saying, “Jesus, please hold me.”

 My lack of physical touch brings me to Jesus. My need brings me to Him on my knees desperate for His touch. And that is why it is good.