It's a mental snapshot I've carried with me since I was a preschooler. We were visiting my aunt and uncle in New England. Late-afternoon winter sunshine filled the little family room, as I awakened from a nap. My aunt sat next to the window. My dad and uncle were there, too, and a special friend called "Uncle Phil." I could tell they were all praying. A beautiful holiness was all around. Uncle Phil noticed I was awake and called my mother from the next room. "I think she's ready to eat something now!" he announced. She came to the door, radiant. Somehow, I felt loved beyond anything I'd ever known before.
Years later, when I had children of my own, I asked my aunt if she remembered that time. "Of course," she said. "You'd fallen down the stairs—and were unconscious. Uncle Phil came to help us pray for you."
No wonder that moment was so unforgettable. It was a moment of healing—of feeling the power of intense spiritual love, of profound prayer. But it was more than that. For me, it was a kind of spiritual awakening. I think that was the instant when I first consciously realized how much God loves me, my family—and all His children. Even though I didn't put words to the feeling then, that moment gave me a new awareness of who I really am and always will be. There, surrounded by so much family love and care, I realized that I was more than just my parents' child. I was God's child. And God, my real Father and Mother, would take care of me. Not just now ... but always.
