Love Will Save You

While I was tucking in the boys for bed the other night, Tank grabbed several of his stuffed animals and put them close by his body.  That kid is always surrounded by a halo of stuffed animals.  And this is what he said:

"I need them close to me, to keep me safe.  That's what people say: "Love will save you."  I don't know how love saves you, though.  How does love keep you safe, Mommy?"

This is one of my pet peeves, actually.  Love is good at many, many things, but physically protecting you when someone is trying to kill you?  I'd prefer Personal Defense Training, or maybe a loaded gun.  Love is a little weak on those saving your physical life details.  (Reference my dislike for the whole premise of the Harry Potter series.)  

So what should I say to my adorable 7-year-old who clings to his stuffed animals at night because he wants to feel safe and secure?  

"Love makes us feel good inside and helps us feel warm and happy."

I figured he'd go for that.  I was ready to elaborate on any number of warm fuzzy details.  But he wasn't having it.

"Yes, but how do these stuffed animals keep me safe?  If someone was trying to hurt me, how do they save me?"

I imagined his 7-year-old brain's probable thought process.  Maybe something like this:  "People have told me that love will save you.  I love these stuffed animals and they love me.  If someone is trying to hurt me, they will magically come to life and become vicious, loyal attack penguins who take out my enemies, I bet.  Except, I've never seen them do that.  So if they don't, then how does love save anyone when they're in danger?  ...  I must ask my mother."

So, again, what should I say to my adorable 7-year-old who clings to his stuffed animals at night because he wants to feel safe and secure?

I told him the truth.  "They don't, Teancom.  Love doesn't save you like that."

And you know what?  He didn't cry.  I think he was more comfortable with that answer than if I'd made up some story about how stuffed animals magically keep you safe through the night.

But what I really wanted to tell him was about how love saves us every day.  I wanted to, right then, talk about how God loved each of us so much that He sent his only son to save us all.  I wanted to tell him that love makes us humble enough to listen to each other, to heal wounds and to be healed of wounds.  I wanted to tell him that love for my family, and from my family, saves me every day.  How, without it, I wouldn't keep on going.  (I'd like to be that strong person who keeps going anyway, but I'm just not.  I'd stop.  I wouldn't even feel bad about it.  I'd just stop.)  I wanted to tell him how giving birth to Miciah and becoming a mother was the loving journey that saved my life and made me the person I am today.  I wanted to tell him how my loving parents gave me my life of happiness and security.  I wanted to tell him about all the people who love him and who do everything they can to keep him safe and happy and secure.  I wanted to tell him about his father who is the most loving person I've ever met, who selflessly loves and keeps on loving and keeps on loving, without counting the cost, and how this has saved me, and him, countless times.  I wanted to tell him that love DOES save us, in ways that are more important than stopping a speeding bullet!

But I just kissed his cheek and said good night, thinking those things were probably over his head, and that's probably not what he was asking anyway.

...  

I missed my moment.  Love is magic.  Powerful, powerful magic.  Without love, all would be lost.

...

I'll tell him, and I'll show him, and I'll prove it to him.  Every day.