Today I went to a doctor’s clinic with my aunt, and something small but very touching happened there. A little boy, maybe two years old, had come with his parents and his twin. He had a bad cough, so the doctor’s assistant was giving him a nebulizer. His mother was right beside him, trying to calm him down, but he was crying so loudly that the whole clinic could hear him.
Then his mother called his father, who was standing outside. The moment the boy went into his father’s arms, he stopped crying completely. Not a single sound. He held his father so tightly, like that was the safest place in the world for him.
The assistant smiled and teased him, saying, “So this is why you were crying. If you had told me earlier, I would have called your papa right away.”
Watching that made me think about how it feels when our fathers are with us. Somehow, we just feel safe. Like no matter what trouble we’re in, they’ll handle it. Even if they don’t say anything, their presence alone gives us strength. Just knowing they’re there feels comforting, like everything will be okay.
The safest heaven