Sunday, May 25, 2014

a place to land.

My daughter-in-law wears her youngest wrapped tightly to her body with a long, black band.  And Dori is happy there. Sometimes on the front, sometimes in back; she's tucked near the heartbeat of her mom where the motion, voices, and chaos of what happens around her are secondary to the quiet port in which she's docked.

My grandson Luke likes to ride high on his dad's shoulders.  The view is different up there with branches to duck, tall people to encounter, balance to keep.  Every so often his hands reach down to grip the sides of his father's face--and settle back into his spot.

The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him, 
who shelters him all the day long; 
and he shall dwell between His shoulders.
Deut. 33:12

We grow up and take pride in walking solo.  But there is a place held for each of us, a port in the storm, a place to reach out and see that we're not alone.

...and he shall dwell between His shoulders.

Pulled closely to the heart of God.  
Held with care.


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