Learning To Love With Open Hands

Do we hold on to people out of love or out of fear?

This talk is a reflection on what it means to love with open hands, rather than gripping tightly to keep others close.

What if connection isn’t something we have to secure, but something we can allow? What if resonance does its own quiet work when we simply show up as we are?

Perhaps loving with open hands means trusting, letting go, and making space for people to come and go, while remaining grounded in love.

Transcript

Can we learn to love with open hands? When an ancient parable taught me about the anxiety of clinging to the people I love. In relationships, I have rarely felt like someone who draws others in easily. I have always been quiet, Shy, And often kept to myself. Over time, I began to believe that if I wanted closeness, I had to work for it. And if I did not, I would be alone. This belief whispers. That if I do not reach out. No one will reach for me. It tells me I am not enough. So I try to hold on. Afraid that if I let go, People will drift away. It feels like holding a balloon by its string. If I keep my grip, People will stay near. If I let go, They will float away. Recently, I found a different way to live in an ancient parable. The Gospel of Luke's story of a father and his two sons. The father is wealthy, And as he ages, He promises his son an equal share of his estate. One son stays, Tending the land and animals. The other asks for his inheritance early, Longing to see what lies beyond home. The father agrees, And the son leaves for distant places. Away from home, He is unprepared for what he finds. His inheritance slips through his fingers, Spent on things that do not last. When nothing remains, He finds work caring for animals. So hungry that even their food looks good to him. No one offers him anything. In his hunger and loneliness, The son remembers home. He wonders if his father might let him return. Not as a son, But as a servant. At least there would be bread. So he begins the long walk back. His clothes worn, His sandals thin. Along the way he practices what he will say. Hoping for a place at the table again. One morning, As the father goes about his day, He looks up and sees a familiar figure on the horizon. His heart recognizes his son before his eyes do. Without waiting, He calls for clean robes and new sandals and asks for a feast to be prepared. He runs to meet his son while he is still far off, Gathering him in his arms. The son tries to speak to offer his practice confession. But the Father does not need to hear it. What matters is that his child is home, Safe. That alone is cause for celebration. There is more to this story, But what stays with me is the Father's welcome. He does not pause to question or judge. He simply runs to his son and gathers him into his arms. He does not ask where his son has been or what he has done. What matters is that he has come home. Here is a father who lives with open hands and open arms. When I first read this story, I identified strongly with both the younger son's sense of not being enough. And the older son's belief that love must be earned through duty. But now I realize the invitation is to witness the father's love for both his sons. When I look at my own life, I see how often I have lived with closed fists. Afraid of the silence when I do not hear from someone for a while. My mind fills that silence with stories. Maybe I said something wrong. Maybe it is my turn to reach out. Maybe they are busy, Or maybe they do not care. In my anxiety, I cling to the string. Reaching out to ease my discomfort. Over time, I noticed this grasping could suffocate a relationship. My reaching was soothing my fear. Not nurturing the connection. I began to notice the fear beneath it all. The fear that I am not enough to keep people close. For many years, I have been on a journey of self-love and acceptance. When the whispers of not enough become too loud, I use Byron Katie's four questions to find my way back to reality. Katie invites us to question our core beliefs with a simple starting question. Is it true? Is it true that I am not enough to keep people close? The answer, Almost always, Is no. I am enough. There is nothing missing, Nothing broken, Nothing that needs to be fixed. I am who I am, And that is enough for closeness. Perhaps my life will not be filled with many relationships. But the ones I have will be meaningful. Perhaps what I am seeking is resonance. The quiet frequency beneath the surface of our lives. This resonance lives in the unseen, In the gentle stirrings of the heart. There is nothing I need to do to make it happen. The invitation is to show up with my whole presence and let what is meant to unfold, Unfold. It is okay to let go of the string and allow the other to drift. If the resonance is true. They may return. Letting go of the string means facing reality. Sometimes that brings relief, And sometimes it brings pain. When I hold the string too tightly, I am caught in the fear of suffering. Yet holding on does not prevent pain. It may only delay it. People may choose to float away. But it is not my work to convince them to stay. The father did not hold the string. He let the sun drift into the distant places without chasing him. Trusting the home he had built was enough to eventually draw him back. There is great joy when someone returns. To love with open hands is to know that suffering is part of love. Yet the gift is that others can return. Trusting they will be met with love. What helps me lean into this practice is the sense that I am held by something larger than myself, Even when I am alone. I am held by nature, By ancestors, By prayer. And by the One who created me. From this I begin to trust. I am held. I can accept this. I can let go. I can surrender. I can allow reality to unfold. When I realized I needed to sit with my anxiety and fear rather than offloaded. I saw that curiosity and gentle attention were the only way to discover what was beneath it. To help with this, I turn to a daily meditation practice, Which many spiritual traditions see as a way of letting go. I sit in stillness. Centering my breath and intention. Letting thoughts pass by. Listening for a deeper wisdom. It is not about doing, But about being. As I learned to understand, Accept, And welcome what was happening within me. I found I could offer the same spaciousness to others. My relationships began to have more room to breathe. Through these practices, I have come to see that loving with open hands means accepting others as they are. And accepting the present moment as it is. It is not clinging to our preferences or to who we wish others would be. It is opening our hands, Letting go, And trusting that what is meant to unfold will unfold. Loving with open hands means allowing people to come and go. I have found that from this place, What remains is peace, Trust, And a deep love for myself and for others. With no strings attached. Where in your life are you holding the string too tight right now? With warmth and gratitude.