In His hands, we are safe and all’s well

He’s chosen to join us today. “I think I wanna come with you for third service.” That’s what he said on his way to Sunday School, so Daddy, he’s stopped by to get him.

The music, it’s playing; guitars, drums, and keyboard. What talented people we’ve got up onstage, and their gifts are an off’ring at Love’s altar. Spirit’s moving.

All over the room, saints are singing and praising, and faces are turned toward His heaven. Hands reach; hearts do, too, and the music, it plays. All our bones are a-hungering and thirsting. Spirit’s breathing.

He’s been standing in front of me, our small, youngest boy, when all of a sudden, he’s shifting. Quietly, he slips over to stand just there, smack-dab in front of his dad. He’s looking.

I know–oh, I do–I know what he’s wanting. Sure enough, Daddy’s faithful to do it. As I watch, two great, strong, gentle hands settle onto small shoulders. All’s well, and Daddy, he towers behind him. He’s covered.

I look at them, father and son, and see us. See you. See me. See Him. He’s our Father, and we’re looking.

Oh, we’re looking, you and I, for that place of sweet refuge. For security. For safety. For love. And He’s waiting.

He stands ready, does our Dad, for you and for me to slip, broken and messy, before Him. As Little’s daddy did, so He’s faithful all the more, and gentle hands long to settle onto shoulders. We’re covered.

I’m looking at Little. It shines in his face–peace, contentment, sweet security, and safety. And all’s well.

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