I’ve been bundled under the covers all week. For South Florida, it’s basically freezing; yesterday morning it was 29 degrees. I know some of you Yankees–or northern transplants could wear shorts and tanks in this weather, but not this girl. Even the plants in the neighborhood stayed snuggled under blankets provided by their caring owners. Not me though, not because I don’t care, but because I can’t grow anything worth throwing a blanket over.
Like the plants in my hood, some of us have the warmth and protection of those who care and some of us don’t. I am blessed to have the protection of my husband. When he hugs me (which is pretty often) that is the safest place in my world. He’s a pretty big guy, and his arms wrap around me, making me feel petite, I mean what woman doesn’t want to feel petite?! I told him that his arms were like my fortress and nothing could get in, he laughed and said, “You’re such a writer!” That I am…but we all need a safe place.
Growing up, it was my grandmother. I lived in chaos growing up and when I sat on my grandmother’s lap, or laid next to her in bed, or was just in her house, I knew I was going to be okay. It was on rare occasion that anything seemed to threaten me there. I loved being in her presence.
I’m learning how to do that with Jesus. I have yet to perfect finding safety in his presence. That is not his fault, it is my own. To feel safe, we must trust the protector. I trusted my grandmother, and I trust my husband. But there are parts of me that don’t trust God completely–not as I should. It’s not about the promises, it’s about the Promise Maker.
Who is your safe person in this life? And I would love to know how you lean into Jesus, knowing that you are safe in his presence, regardless of your circumstances–I’m still learning!