My mom’s fond gaze, my father’s bursting pride—
A child, I’m held by these—until I hide.
Much later when I sense a higher gaze
I can emerge from deep inside my maze.
Behold—be seen—by Him—be held—be healed!
I was reading Scripture at midnight ten days ago (I’m an insomniac retiree), and I came across the line from Psalm 11, “His eyes behold,” followed by “his searching gaze is on mankind.”
The words hit me as things sometimes will: God—looking—at me. It was not, at that moment, a thought passing through; it was a truth with which to reckon.
God sees me. Then came this little poem.
sweet dreams