Hemmed

She had followed me.  I had literally no idea she was there.  I had brought my little girls in from school and ran upstairs;  I can’t for the life of me remember why.

I would be back in the car in two minutes I told myself.  Back to the office as if this was a pit stop at Indy.  I whipped around with whatever I needed now in my hand and there she stood, all four feet of her.  For someone that lives life loud, she had been completely silent.

She was scrambling to cover herself up with blankets.  She had thrown her sweater on the floor.  Her hair barrette lay tossed on the nightstand.  It was naptime;  I envied her.  She didn’t ask for a book or a story, not even a show.  “Tuck me in,” she whispered,  “Really, really tight.”

It went all over me that I could have missed this.  This moment,  barely three minutes;  for her, pure joy.

Fall had already made itself known but we had yet to turn on the furnace.  It was chilly.  I piled blanket after blanket on her and tucked in every corner.  We laughed that she looked more like a burrito then a little girl.  Her eyes danced with delight, so did my heart.

This, the simplest of gestures, the smallest amount of time, insignificant in cost or labor, yet pure delight to both of us.

I walked away with the balance of the day inside out.  My focus still the same, my purpose, my schedule, but my heart so incredibly satiated.

She was tucked in,  I was hemmed.

There are so many pieces of my days that feel rogue, uncharted, uncovered, unplanned and thereby often unpleasant.

Whoever said routine was boring did not go to my school of same.

We make hundreds of decisions each week, as parents, one or two hundred more.  Always the nag, “Is this right?”  Will this word or action or punishment or omission or subtraction permanently damage someone or something?

We forget, or perhaps it’s just me that we are covered.  We are hemmed, we are tucked in.

It is no mistake that the Psalmist describes how vastly and specifically He knows us.  Not just our names but our hearts, our schedule, our agendas, our words, our intent, every single thought flowing like the ocean through His ears.  But then, just as soon as we read that we are as glass to the microscope of God, He says,  “and I hem you in.”

Never uncovered, never exposed, never alone, never unthought of, or expendable,  rather hemmed.

This is extraordinary.  The Father has tucked us in for life, covered us in His grace, and invites us to rest in His peace.