I Can Love Jesus and Not Hold Your Hand

As I age (and grow a fuller, more luscious beard each week), my aversion to people touching me keeps increasing. There are a few exceptions. I can sometimes tolerate a pat on the shoulder or a squeeze of one of my tight, curly hair ringlets. My kids can hug me, wrestle with me, or sit on my lap. I know they need that type of interaction from their dear old mom and I enjoy it. My husband would love the occasional hug, but I think the “laser beam of love” (my index finger touching his shoulder) is enough. I think of it as a super concentrated version of love shooting out of my finger. He does not necessarily agree. I hug my mom, but she’s put up with so much crap from my sisters and I- she deserves a hug. When we are driving her nuts, I will even go so far as to help her up off the floor from the sitting position where she’s  been rocking back and forth with her head on her knees.

There are many more instances when you do not need to be touching me. Last year I attended a Christian women’s conference for the first (and most likely last) time. I heard some good messages and saw a great Christian comic (who was not quite dirty enough for my liking). I cannot say that I was refreshed or felt anew, but all in all it was a good conference. Except. Except for all the forced hand holding. I do not know what it is about Christian women and hippies, but they love a good hand holding.  During the first two sessions, I spent many uncomfortable minutes grasping strangers’ hands. By the third session, I decided to break Christian Chick Conference tradition because I realized that I could love Jesus and not hold hands. Gripping the germy palm of some other gal did not bring me closer to God. It was, in fact, not helping me with my walk with Jesus. Instead of focusing on the message/song at hand, I was fixated on the sweaty, squeezing-me-too- tightly mitt of Gertrude Myrtle standing next to me. When the next lady tried to grab me I gently declared that I did not hold hands because I had a “thing about germs.” She was a little taken aback, but I stood my ground. I’m sure she and the other ladies from the Third Baptist Church of Mineral Wells had a good ol’ gossip about it back at the hotel. As the conference continued, it got easier to refuse the grasp of Christian love.

My husband and two children do martial arts together. That art has no appeal to me and one big reason is because of all the touching. In his class, I watch my husband get dripping wet with sweat and then roll around on mats as he learns to fall and do cartwheels. The next person then has their face shoved into the moist mat. Some of the martial arts moves require you to shove your butt near the other person’s crotch so that you can flip them. No thank you. I do not want your secretions on me and I certainly do not want your drippy butt or crotch sweat on me. No way, no how.

If you feel the need to hug me, here are some appropriate times. If a friend, family member, or pet dies- you may hug me. It must be within 45 days of said death and cannot last more than three seconds in duration. The maxi hug is not necessary in my bereavement period or in any other period in my life (thank you very much). My current pet is a fish and I do not forsee the need for comfort when he dies. Please take that into account if you hear that my pet has passed. If I see you two years after a death, I do not need a hug. My time of need will be long gone. If I go on a dangerous mission trip, almost die from dysentery, have to spend six months in the care of a tribal doctor, and live in a hut with no running water- when I get back, you can hug me. If I am on fire, you are welcome to knock me to ground and smother the flames with your body. Some may not consider that a hug, but if we were vertical it would definitely look like one.

Hugging and touching is good for some, but I am ok without it. Instead, give me a kind word, give me some chocolate, mow my grass, or paint a room in my house. Maybe I will change some day, but for now- keep your hands off of me.