I was born in Michigan. Lived everywhere from Detriot, to Flint, to Imlay City and Sherwood Lane in the suburbs. From an early age, I was bombarded with the warning that there were people and things that would be hurtful to me if they could. "Don't take candy from strangers" was a well-learned phrase by the time I was seven, and if I wandered too far in the grocery store I would suddenly feel my hand snatched by my mother, the frantic look she aquired when she found her little girl no longer by her side replaced with relief that a fear I could not name at the time had not come to pass. To us children, the boogeyman was real, and he didn't hide under the bed--he hid behind the eyes of strangers.

As I have grown older and come to grasp the evil in our world and society that has made so many destroyed young lives possible, fear for my own safety has become a constant if sometimes weak presence in my mind, whether its walking to my car after a late shift at work or driving through a seedy area of town.

In my short twenty years there has only been one thing that has and always will make me feel invulnerable to the evil around me, and that, unsuprisingly, is my father. With his strong arm around my shoulder, no one dared to touch me. The fierce affection that burned in his eyes was both a promise to me and my sister that we would always have his love and a promise to predators that there would be consequences if they acted toward us in ill intent. The message was clear... mess with his girls, and bad things would happen.

I've been told--often--that my father is intimidating, his self-confident poise making him stand out in a room as a distinguished force to be reckoned with. But when he looked at me and my sister, we saw the deep-rooted love of my father that no other girls could claim as their own. To us, he was Daddy, who tickled our forehead with the stubble on his chin before tucking us in with a prayer and turning off the light as we chimed our habitual "Love you and good night!" on his way out the door. Who pretended to fall asleep on the couch while me and my sister crept quietly closer, trying to see if his eyes were peeking open, only to scream in childish delight as the "tickle-monster" came awake with a roar and tried to grab us as we scampered away. Today, many years later, he is still a symbol of protection, the one man I can rely on for unconditional love and the protection of being under his arm. Even at my present age, I stand straighter, walk stronger, and feel mostly indestructible with my father at my side.

As these recollections and realizations were clarifying in my mind, I realized how so many of us as Christians are cheating ourselves of the sanctuary that our Heavenly Father offers us. How often do we ponder the shadows, wondering what evil is lurking in each dark hidden corner? How often are the wiles and evil of the devil and his own expounded upon, until our very souls seem small compared to the looming threat of God's damned enemy? The corrupted power is real, the danger is there--but in the light of Abba Father's presence, the grasp of Satan is like the spindly fingers of night as dawn breaks, trying and failing to regain its grasp on the sky as daylight pours over the heavens. Our Father's immortal arm is always around our shoulders, marking us as His and lending support as we stumble along life's road. His loving voice alternately soothes and restrains us, every word recieved with the innate knowledge that His ultimate satisfaction will be to have each of us by His side and in His arms forever. Even with broken bodies and crushed hearts, we will always have our Father's shoulder. This is a Daddy's love. This is our Father's promise.