My Safe Place (and My Bear in Boots)
It’s funny how, when you’re little, the things that make you feel safe are so simple. A teddy bear with a missing ear, a blanket fort built with your grandpa’s old quilts, or those magical back rubs from Grandma that somehow lasted exactly until you drifted off drooling on her couch. You’d wake up to the smell of pancakes — at 11 a.m., mind you — because Grandma didn’t care about clocks or calories. She just cared that you were there.
But somewhere along the way, those safe things slip away. You hit that awkward stage where your hair’s rebelling, your teeth are taking turns showing up, and your idea of self-expression is mismatched socks. (Let’s be honest — the hair struggle doesn’t really go away even when you’re pushing forty.)
Then come the teenage years, and Lord have mercy — nothing is safe. Hormones, heartbreak, and the haunting sound of your mama hollering, “Who left the back door open?” You’re caught between wanting to be grown and wishing somebody would just hand you your old teddy bear and tuck you in.
And then, one day — somewhere between chaos, caffeine, and carpool duty — you meet him.
This man.
The one who somehow becomes the safe place you didn’t even realize you’d been missing. His voice settles your nerves, his arms make you feel like you could nap through a thunderstorm, and when his name pops up on your phone, you can’t help but grin like a fool.
He’s your peace in a noisy world — your grown-up teddy bear (except this one snores and leaves boots by the door).
Now don’t get me wrong, we get on each other’s nerves something fierce sometimes. Bless his heart, I know I test his patience like a Walmart checkout line on a Sunday. But the truth is, I can’t unlove him. I can’t even picture a life without him in it.
He’s my best friend, my safe space, my steady calm in the middle of every storm. God sure knew what He was doing when He made this man for me — mismatched quirks and all.
So here’s to the ones who become our safe places. The ones who make life feel a little more like Grandma’s pancakes and a lot less like chaos in curlers.
Because no matter how grown we get, we all still need our bear.
Magnolias, Messes & Mercy. 🌸