My mother held me like a desperately long-awaited answer. My father held me like a question that I could never hear. My grandfather held me like a flag.
When I embrace my friends I listen with my skin and with my breath, let love soak slowly from my pores and stay until they drop their grip and stand up straight.
Sometimes I just lie on the grass and breathe. The sky watches my face until I sleep.
If I imagine how I'd like to feel the arms of God, I would like the Father to hold me like someone who was looking at my face, like someone who was safe to fall asleep on, like someone who knew how.