Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home

The mum of Fernan has gone home. She left in a short time, only a couple of days. There is never enough time to understand the departure of a mother, but the pandemic is snatching our most loved ones very quickly.

Without previous notice, without a moment to sit down. Without a moment to look at each other, speak, or just stay silent.

The coronavirus is taking our grandpas and grandmas in a way we never would have wanted. On their own, isolated, without fully realising what is happening.

We are not given a chance to hug them, caress them, tell them what they meant to us, give them the peace of our company, the warmth of our arms, taking their hand.

The mother of Fernan had a little gift. Her grandson Jon was allowed to spend almost a full day with her, connecting the phone so that she could speak to the whole family, one by one. All of them had the chance. And Jon was holding her hand.

This is the photo. All the protection of Jon’s hand cannot hide the love that goes out towards her grandmother. She places her calmed hand quietly on the young man’s hand.

Trusting, in peace.

It is the same hand that some hours later the Lord took to bring her home. In the heart a hymn is sounding: “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me home”:

Precious Lord take my hand and lead me on, let me stand

I am tired, I am weak and, and I am worn

Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the night

Precious Lord take my hand, lead me home.