In early childhood my daughter was, by nature, sweet and sunny, always loving and laughing. But I remember when she reached that stage in her development, around age 5 or 6, when children become, for a time, more fearful and anxious; that point in life when they grow aware that the world is big and can be dangerous, when safety programs at school can cause anxiety, and when the meaningless noise on the grown up TV programs starts to translate into threatening messages close to home.

A child of the Cold War, I became a first-grader terrified of nuclear attack, and for a brief period was certain that when I walked home from School 92 (after an air raid drill), I would find my house just a smoking hole on Kenmore Drive, my parents no more than vapor. For my daughter, born in the mid-1980s, the fear was Stranger Danger.

One evening as I was putting her to bed I saw she was unusually quiet and downcast. Before I could ask what was wrong, she said, “Mommy, I’m sad.” I sat down on the bed next to her and asked why. As she continued, the tears glistened in her eyes.

“I was thinking that if somebody took me away from you and Daddy, there wouldn’t be anyone to call me by my pet names. I’d never hear them again.” The tears started down her cheeks.

I hugged her, swallowed hard, and told the great parent lie, the one every parent prays is true. “No one can take you away from me,” I promised. “I won’t let them.” How could I let her know that her greatest fear was also my own? What mother has not felt that clutching at the heart when she turns and for a moment does not see her child?

But as she continued, I could tell my daughter’s distress had a different emphasis. “But I’d never hear all the special names you and Daddy have for me.” It wasn’t being taken that disturbed her as much as the fear of being unknown in a loving and intimate way.

I replied, “Well, let’s just say them all right now so you can hear them.” My names for her: Sweetheart, Honey, Baby…her father’s names: Punkin, Noodle, Chip…until we ticked off at least 10. I squeezed her again and asked, “Does that help?”

She sniffled, nodded, and added, “You forgot one. Sweetums-Pie.”

Sweetums-Pie. I’ll never forget it again. Every loving name we had for our little girl was registered in her sense of self. And if one was missing, she knew. I kissed my Sweetums-Pie good night and tucked her in.

I believe that no matter how old we are there can still emerge from within us a trembling child who fears being separated from the Divine Parent, who fears being cast into the deep, dark, turbulent currents of a threatening world, alone and unknown. But I also believe that the Eternal Parent, unlike the human parent, can promise without doubt, “No one can take you away from Me.” God always knows where we are and who we are, and God’s names for us are tender and individually intimate.

“Fear not…I have called you by name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1-2

When you start to feel lost, listen for your name.

Wishing you a space for grace in your life today,

Kate