We live in a two-story house. Our master suite is downstairs and their bedrooms are upstairs. We can easily hear them when they need us. The moment “mom” is called out, I can make it up the stairs in less than five seconds flat. Because that’s what moms do. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it’s not completely uncommon for my boys to wake up during the night and journey down the stairs on their own. They won’t trip or fall because I’ve placed lamps very strategically along their pathway. Whether it’s a seasonal thunderstorm, a bad dream or growing pains in their long, lanky legs, they scamper downstairs to the living room. I’ve woken up in the morning a few times to find one or both of them asleep on the sofa and over-sized chair we have in our living room. They don’t care that our entire great room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. It doesn’t seem to frighten them when the shadows of the trees form scary monsters on the walls. No, they just automatically feel safer knowing that they are on the same floor as their momma and daddy. Within twenty feet of their security. I love being their shield. Their protector. Their strength on this earth. What they don’t realize is that I am often just as scared as them when a tornado is on its way or when I can’t get their fever to subside or when a bad dream strikes. But I don’t tell them. Because the chain of fear and concern should go up. My kids tell me and I tell my Heavenly Daddy. When I do, He comforts me with his peace that passes understanding and He lets me lean back in his very comfortable, everlasting arms. Then, and only then, do my babies rest peacefully. Because I’m resting peacefully knowing the Creator of the universe loves and cares for me.