When I was a child, I had a safe heaven. It was perfect. It was security. It was comfort.
When I was a child, my dad used to beat me… sometimes really bad. I would run upstairs and climb into my grandma’s bed and hope that she could protect me, but even at the tender young age of 7, I knew that the only person who could really protect me was God. After I had gotten beat, or when I was really sad, I would go into the spare room in my grandma’s house. I called it “The Holy Room.” There was a bed, laying sideways against 2 windows. The tall dresser served as the make shift alter. On top there was a fancy china plate with the Virgin Mary painted on it, there was a crucifixion cross, and a white candle was continuously burning. My grandmother also had a small radio that played the christian station (94.7 Family Radio -thanks Kenneth for reminding me-) 24/7/365 (366 in a leap year). This was my safe heaven.
I would lay as close to the window as possible, looking as hard as I could to see at least one star in the bright sky. The flood light next to my window didn’t help, but I still tried. After a while, I would say my prayers, just like my grandma taught me (an “Our Father”, followed by thanking God for EVERYTHING, then asking for forgiveness for all the wrong things I’ve done. Then I would ask the lord to bless all the people I knew, I would ask God to fix me and make me a better child, and finally I’d wrap it up with ‘In my little bed I lie…”
When my prayers were finally done, I would close my eyes real tight and imagine I was a tiny baby, floating high in the sky, above the clouds, looking down at the stars. I would imagine that God was holding me in his arms, rocking me to sleep, wiping away my tears, and letting me know that everything was going to be okay. If I tried hard enough, I could actually feel myself being rocked back and forth. I felt at peace. I still do it to this day, and it always makes me feel better…
You should try it.