Safe in His Arms

In an instant, the air conditioners and fans ceased their whirring. The alarm clocks and nightlights blinked off. A silent darkness filled our house as the tropical heat seeped its way inside. 

Inwardly, I bemoaned the interruption to my night’s sleep. “I think the power just went out,” I grumbled to my husband. He didn’t respond.

Then, a small, trembling voice called out from behind our bedroom door. “Mom?” 

Troy was out of bed, with our five-year old daughter in his arms before I could pull back the covers. 

She whimpered again.

“It’s okay. I got you,” he reassured her. They disappeared into her bedroom where I knew he would lay beside her until she fell back to sleep.

I got you. Slang though it is, it’s a beautiful phrase, and spoken from the deepest place of a father’s heart. 

“I got you,” he says when the training wheels come off and the bike feels uncertain and unsteady.

“I got you,” he says with outstretched hand when the trail’s too steep to manage without slipping.

“I got you,” he smiles when the ice cream in the freezer is just out of reach.

“I got you,” he soothes when the darkness is deep and we can’t even find the doorknob.

I got you. It’s the three-word equivalent of, “You don’t need to be afraid, because I’m here for you, and I always will be. You can feel safe in my arms, you can trust my wisdom and strength.”

But I know there have been a lot of times in my life that I’ve preferred stumbling around in the dark, stubbing my toes, and hunting for a flashlight to light my own way, over resting in my Father’s arms. My faith isn’t always so childlike. 

Let’s put the metaphor on hold for a moment, and talk about it like it is.

Sometimes — most times — we can barely discern what we’re supposed to do next, especially when we’re in a place of pain. That’s what I mean by the darkness. It’s when our usual comforts and guides have disappeared and we feel totally confused, utterly lost. 

The darkness might overtake us in a season of intense transition, or after a significant loss (of a loved one, career, home, dream …), or just when reality doesn’t match up with expectations. At all. Ever. Nothing feels predictable or safe anymore, and it’s scary. 

If you’re reading this, I imagine you’ve been there. I was there for most of our first three years in Alaska and for about two years here in Thailand. So I’m not going to sit here and offer you some quick fix, some “just trust in God and believe these scriptures and it will all go away” false promise. I know it doesn’t work that way.

What I do know, however, is that our perceptions change in the dark. Like someone suddenly blinded by an accident, we learn to live in our world through our other senses. 

And that might be part of why God doesn’t just supernaturally turn the lights back on at our first whimper. When my daughter cried out, Troy’s reaction wasn’t to run for a flashlight, it was to scoop her up and speak words of comfort. Putting a flashlight in her hand might have empowered her and dissipated some of her fear, but holding her close reinforced their relationship and reiterated his goodness as a father.

In the darkness, we learn to rely less on our self-sufficiency and more on His grace. We train our ears to hear His voice. We recognize spiritual and emotional changes happening within us that were previously ignored when we could physically power through our circumstances. These are treasured gifts that will serve us well even when the sun rises and the darkness fades.

Our Father is good. As we desperately cling to Him in our darkest seasons, He will teach us to trust, to hope, and to have peace that passes understanding. He is unshakable, and you are safe in His arms.

Take a moment to close your eyes, turning off your sense of sight. As you breathe in, pray, “I am safe …” and as you breathe out, say, “…in Your arms.” Do this several times, allowing God to guide your imagination as you picture yourself wrapped in His embrace.