Our combined voices lifted up in worship. Our praise swirled under the dome of the outside amphitheater and poured into the surrounding area. It was a glorious Good Friday, with members of our church and people from our community gathered to worship outdoors in celebration of what Jesus did for us on the cross.

As I raised my arms, I felt someone nudge me on my right side. My oldest daughter pressed against me. I gave her shoulders a squeeze and wrapped my arm around her waist to tuck her closer. Within a couple of minutes, I felt another nudge at my left side. My oldest son came close, and I did the same — wrapped my arms around his shoulder and pulled him tight.

The next day, one of my colleagues sent me a picture she snapped of that moment. An image of me with my kids wrapped snugly and safely in my arms.

Safe.

This word safe sometimes feels like an elusive dream because the world at large often doesn’t feel very safe. Yet throughout God’s Word, He reminds us to find refuge and comfort and safety in His arms. No matter the reason. In mourning or rejoicing.

My kids coming near is not limited to daytime moments. Sometimes it’s the midnight hour and beyond when they make their way to us.

Parents everywhere have experienced nights like this. A cry pulls you from your sleep. Or perhaps you pad down the hallway to a distant room (because it feels like a mile when you’re walking at 3 am). Or you awaken to a moonlit figure in the shape of your child standing next to your bed.

This doesn’t happen as often in our home as it used to. But when it has, I’m usually not even aware that my kid has sought refuge in our bed until he or she has absorbed all the remaining space, leaving me to grasp for my life at the edge of the mattress as my comfortable and cozy sleep slips away.

My frustration over interrupted sleep shifted a few years ago when I saw a post pop up on social media — a simple illustration of two parents lying on opposite edges of their bed. Right in the middle was a child nestled between them, snugly buried under the covers. The word “safe” was scribbled above.

Now, when the kids happen to filter in and out at different moments, especially when a nightmare or fear has tried to grip them, and they snuggle under the covers against us, tucked under our arms, I hear this whisper fill my heart: they are safe here.

I’ve not always felt safe in certain places. Not safe to rest fully, or be me fully or to lean against someone for support. And many times it was from the hindrances of my own making because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or I feared rejection. Yet throughout scripture, the Holy Spirit whispers the same words to me as I read His word. You are safe here.

That phrase seems to stand in rebellion against all the circumstances in life that tell us otherwise. Relational tension, global conflict, financial distress, battles with health — these situations are real and tangible, and may be pushing us so far beyond our comfort that our steps seem as precarious as those 3 a.m. walks across a lego-laden landscape. At times, we may feel like we are stumbling around in the dark, searching for light, grasping for something to keep us steady against the onslaught of what we can’t control.

But safe doesn’t necessarily mean a place without strife, but a shelter and refuge in the midst of it. Safety is eternally found in the arms of God.

Hebrews 4:16 describes an invitation from the King of Kings that has always fascinated me:

“Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” (NIV)

I’m in awe of the way my kids bound into my husband‘s arms, or how my youngest daughter will plop herself down on one of our laps without even looking because she has total confidence that we will be there and that she is welcome.

But God’s welcome is so much more open, and redemptive, and safer, and stable than this.

A storm may be raging. Or we may be on a mountaintop rejoicing. But whatever the case, there is a place where we can dwell and remain safely. Jesus paid the price for us to come boldly. He invites us to be wrapped up in His everlasting arms and to press snugly against His pierced side.

We are safe with Him.

 

Listen to Jenny’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast, streaming everywhere!

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