She painted a picture for me with her words.
My Father and I were walking around the edge of a large green field. More accurately, my Father was walking around the field. I, a small child, was being carried. A tall white fence surrounded the field. We walked inside. The fence didn’t seem to matter.
He held me close, one arm beneath me so I could not fall, one behind me, holding me close to his heart. His chin rested gently on the top of my head, protecting me from above.
I snuggled against him. I was tired and his arms were so comforting. Then I pulled my head back to look up at him. I had rested long enough, hadn’t I? Didn’t he want to put me down? Even in my weariness I fought rest, struggled to settle in. He smiled into my anxious eyes, then gently drew my head back toward his chest, settled his cheek against my hair. He kept walking, slowly, gently, the rhythm rocking me. Sometimes he quietly pointed out a bird, a flower, for me to enjoy with him, still holding me close against His chest. Mostly his gentle silence encouraged me to rest. My eyes closed, opened, closed again. My little hands relaxed their grasp. He kept holding.
There is no falling here, no failing.
You can let go, child, and rest.
You are mine, held, forever.
"Listen to me. . . you whom I have upheld since you were conceived, and have carried since your birth.
Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." (Isaiah 46:3-4)
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)