You Are Held

The moment I heard him hit the floor, I knew. I knew he was hurt. His mouth turned crimson and he screamed. People stared.

I held.

I held my son in my arms, not worrying over whether I too, would become a bloody mess. Tears ran down his soft cheeks as sobs echoed through the tiled grocery store. I carried him. And didn’t think once of putting him down. Not once.

Even after making it home, he stayed in my arms. Finally resting. Peace filling his tiny body as his eyes drifted shut and he slept. I laid him in bed and watched him, afraid to leave. I noticed one thing. Just one. Strange–how my arms felt.

My arms were heavy. And I could still feel his weight. His burden.

My chest heaved, and I was spent. Tired. Useless for the rest of this day. My humanness wearing thick on my skin. Weakness painted obvious on shaking muscles.

I am reminded of the arms of my Lord. His strong arms.

What a bloody mess He must be this week—this week in our nation. For He has lifted us, carried us crying, screaming out through space and time. Shaking at the evil that snatches our innocence.

How heavy His arms must feel.

To see His children in so much pain. To hear them cry out at the utter depravity witnessed in mankind. To watch them suffer in anguish and loss.

How heavy His arms must feel.

Because He holds us. In the same way I ran to my son, my Jesus never hesitates to lift us up into His arms. His arms, stretched wide by nails and wood. One hand massive enough to hold the universe in His palm.

He holds us. He holds you. He holds me.



“I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.” Isaiah 46:4

I have made you, and I will carry you.

Allow the Comforter’s words to wash over your soul—to speak tenderly to your heart. Maybe, for you, Boston is next door but still a world away. For we all fall. We trip. Our faces hit the ground, and we cover the shoulder of Jesus with a bloody mess.

But He has promised to carry us. And unlike my withering strength, His arms never tire. They are always strong. Ready to carry the burdens we unleash with sobs and screams, burying our heads into His strong power.

There comes a point in each of our journeys when we hit the ground with such intensity we cannot stand on our own. We cannot walk or put one foot before the other. These are the days we hold tight to His arms. Arms that have gathered us, gently rocking back and forth.

He holds our tearstained cheeks to His chest, and we listen to the soothing voice whispering in our ears, Shhh, little one. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. Maybe not today but it will be. Shhh. I won’t let you go, sweet baby. You’re mine. Shhh…

You are held. Held with an inexplicable love. Held with such a Force of strength even Hell can’t drag you from the arms of your Savior.

You are held. It’s His promise.

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3 Responses to You Are Held

  1. Liz says:

    Beautifully stated.

  2. Cheryl says:

    So powerful. Thank for reminding us of His strength.

  3. Anonymous says:

    Wonderful: God given. Thank you. Love mom