As I settled down to pray in my room at a retreat center, I replayed in my mind the lyrics I had been singing along with the radio on my hour drive there. I felt frustrated and confused. Why were there so many songs describing the tenderness and comfort of being held by God? I sang the words, but I knew I didn’t share the experience. Were they just nice sounding words or were there people who knew God’s embrace as more than just a singable metaphor?

I worried that maybe Jesus didn’t want to hold me. I took a risk and prayed. “Jesus, I want this to be real for me, but I have no idea how. If I can’t physically see, hear, or touch you, how can I know what it feels like for you to hold me?”

A scene popped into my mind. A mother sea otter nestling her pup. I sensed Jesus inviting me to imagine myself in the place of that little pup. I felt the mother otter’s paws wrap snug around me. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the gently rocking waves soothed my ruffled emotions. I heard her soft cooing close to my ears and the noisy calls of seagulls overhead. I tasted the tangy saltiness of the breeze. I felt sheltered and a new sense of belonging. Was this furry embrace the answer to my prayer?

“Jesus, is this how it feels to be held by you?”

It’s one way, my child.

“It’s a good way, Jesus I like it. Thank you for this gift.”

God engaged my imagination to open a door to a tangible experience of his love holding me close in his heart. I felt his tenderness towards me and a new sense of belonging.

Bubbles. That’s just what we need here, I thought, as I met three-year-old Alianna, in my care for the afternoon. As she told me her name, she pirouetted, revealing the flair of both her skirt and her personality – definitely a bubbles kind of girl. I snagged two bottles from our front closet, and we headed outside. My new friend and I blew bubbles, laughing as they danced on a soft breeze and popped on the grass, bushes, and each other. And then one kept floating up. “Look, Alianna,” I exclaimed, “that bubble is going to Jesus.” As Alianna tracked the rising bubble with widening eyes, she made a joyful, little bounce and rose up on her tippy-toes as if she might just float up to heaven with it. “Goin’ ta Jesus!” she echoed, clapping her hands together with excitement.

Surprisingly, that bubble didn'tpop. Together we watched it continue to float up and out of our sight. Jesus loves children, so he must love bubbles. With the thought, an image spontaneously formed in my mind of Jesus sitting casually on his throne, a bottle in one hand and a pink plastic wand in the other. He was blowing bubbles, too, but his transformed from spheres into hearts as they drifted down upon us. Jesus had a big grin on his face, revealing his delight in joining our fun. He liked being with us. Jesus finds deep joy in loving the kind of little girl who twirls when she tells you her name and the kind of woman who keeps bottles of bubbles in her closet. That’s why he said in Matthew 18:2-4 that we need to “become as little children,” not “stuffy, anxious grown-ups” to enter into his kingdom.

I knew that Alianna’s family had taught her that Jesus loved her. I could easily imagine Alianna running without hesitation right into Jesus’ lap and loving embrace. I envied her carefree approach to life because I knew it came from the security of being protected, as well as loved, by the big people in her life.

As a survivor of childhood abuse, the invitation to become like a child has often felt more threatening than appealing. I was loved, but there weren’t any big people in my life who protected me. Alianna’s innocence was being cherished; mine had been exploited. Why would I want to become a child again? Why would I ever desire to be that vulnerable again? Now that I was a “big person,” all I wanted was to be safe. What Jesus wanted was to set me free.

Like the disciples who tried to shoo the little children away from Jesus, shame and fear barred my heart from “goin’ ta Jesus” with the same light-hearted spirit as Alianna. The day Jesus showered me with bubbles marked the beginning of my journey learning to trust him to love me without hurting me. I discovered I could let him hold me without the danger of being violated. I was safe being small and vulnerable, with a great, big God to take care of me. I was able, in time, to share with Jesus the pain and humiliation of the abuse I had suffered as a child. Jesus comforted me in my tears. I was even safe expressing to him my anger about the terrible abuses done to me.

As we faced those terrible memories together, Jesus showed me that he had always been with me. Now, when I read or hear Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:14 to “let the little children come to me,” I am free to run right into his arms. Just as I laughed and played with Alianna, I am also learning how to laugh and have fun with Jesus. Together, we stomp through crunchy fall leaves, run barefoot in the sand, make snow angels, and enjoy the tangy sweetness of wild raspberries. Even when he asks me to do hard things such as forgive those who hurt me, I feel safe with him and I am confident that he is always working for my good.

Coming to Jesus as a child of God doesn’t mean that I will never be vulnerable or that I will never be hurt again. It means I never have to go back to the fear and shame of my childhood. Instead, I can keep on walking forward in increasing child-like freedom, with one hand holding onto Jesus, the other holding a pink plastic wand.