Inside the Song Series #7: In Your Arms
Call me shallow, but one of the first things I fell for about my husband was his “python” arms. That was my description of his biceps—a description that made him smile and ask me out on a date.
We were at a college party, on opposite sides of the room, each with a group of friends. I noticed his muscular arms filling out the sleeves of his black T-shirt. At the time, I probably wasn’t thinking about safety, grounding, or emotional refuge. I just knew I wanted to be close to him. So I stared him down until he decided to walk over to me to see what’s what.
Fast forward to fifteen years later, I began writing a song called “In Your Arms.” I was attempting to write him a love song, but we were going through a bit of a bumpy stretch in our marriage.
Little kids, busy lives, no time for each other.
The original lyrics repeatedly began with the words:
I just want to…
I just wanna lay my head on your chest
I just wanna hear your baritone voice
I just wanna feel your heart beating
The “just wanna” carried a bit more weight than I realized. It held the feeling that I was longing for something I needed but wasn’t getting. The song was tender, but underneath was an overt ache and frustration.
I set the song aside.
When I returned to it years later, I decided to remove the words “just wanna.” A small change, but it transformed the entire song!
“I just wanna lay my head on your chest” became:
I love to lay my head on your chest.
The song was no longer focused on what was missing. I was writing from gratitude for the closeness we had built together. It became a celebration of everything I love about him: the sound of his voice, the calm in his eyes, and the feeling of being held in his arms.
It became a song about the way love can settle us—how another person’s presence can help us feel secure, grounded, and fully at ease.
My husband’s arms are still where I feel most sheltered. As the chorus says, his embrace is my sweet place.
Have a listen to In Your Arms here:
Listen on Spotify:
Writing prompt for your journal:
Think of someone you have loved. What was one of the first details you noticed about them—their hands, laugh, voice, eyes, posture, scent, or the way they entered a room?
Begin with:
“Call me shallow, but the first thing I noticed was…”
Describe the moment vividly. Then explore what that physical detail came to mean to you over time.