Childhood memories fade behind my lack of desire to draw them forward to my mind’s eye. Truer still, these memories fade in God’s embrace. Having been seen enough to be healed and healed enough to help others, they now remain in yesterday gone by.

Except in one way.

I met God. I was young and sad. His love was simple and dynamic. I put my faith in Jesus. I was in awe of His death then life. But God! His claim to be a father, The Father, swept me off my feet. That very day, I met His arms, I learned His embrace.

I saw His magic.

One touch and words were not even needed. One embrace and all was well within my soul. Purity regained. Love returned. Uncertainty sure. Loneliness replaced.

I belonged.

Just as my adult self slips into slumber in anticipation of each morning’s first sip of freshly ground coffee, my little girl self anticipated each night in my bed enveloped in God’s embrace.

I was safe.

Balled up like a newborn in a mommy’s arms, I eagerly relished the hold that healed each broken touch, the strength that overpowered scars from another persons weakness, the words that washed over me, “I belonged to someone who wanted me.”

I had a place. That place was God’s arms.

I had a voice. A voice heard by the ears of my Father in Heaven.

And I had a name. My name was His.

“If the Lord had not been my help, my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.” – Psalm 94:17