My Husband’s Arms

The other night, Davey was holding me in his arms in the darkness.

“You make me feel so strong,” he whispered.

I squeezed his arm and whispered back, “You make me feel small.”

He paused for a moment.  “Small, like meek and scared? Or small, like protected.”

“Protected,” I said, laughing a little, because pretty much the moment he embraced me, quiet tears flowed.  I needed to be held.  I needed to be small.  I needed to be protected, because I’m just little me, and sometimes, this life gets to be too big for me to hold onto by myself.

But he knows that, and he wraps his strong arms around me, and I am secure, cherished, restored.

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