I open a book and snuggle my round, sweet baby and my little man on my lap; and I read. We visit Bear Country, where I know all wrongs will be righted in thirty-two pages or less. We romp through the Hundred Acre Woods with Pooh and Tigger, looking for Christopher Robin and the right words for a poem. We chase after runaway trains with the Reverend Awdry, and we converse with a petulant alligator and his owner Amanda. And for just a short while, I remember what it is to be three years old, to not understand the weights of adulthood or evil of the world. And to have faith.
My grandpa is not doing well. My mother is weary. My good friends are hurting. My children are struggling with just being sinners. Their mother can't give herself grace. It just seems like too much until I re-enter the perspective of childhood and the faith to be found there. And I remember the Truth so worthy of my trust.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7
as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. Psalm 103:12
And I find my hope in the place where it has been all along. Not in my self, but in the promises of the Faithful, Eternal One. If it seems simplistic, that's because it is. A faith so simple a child can understand it and believe it, so challenging that the ancient ones still grapple with it. And I find peace and rest have returned to my soul, and I no longer need to flee.
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