I Pick You Up

I have a sweet little boy named Jimmy. And he loves me immensely. He always tells me, "I pick you up, Mommy." (Which really means, I want YOU to pick me up.) But his soft words to me have struck my heart lately. 

I pick you up, Mommy. I pick you up. 

Last night, as we fell asleep in my bed, he rubbed my arm softly. He nuzzled so close to me that our foreheads were touching. That little 3 year old loves me. And I love him so much. 

I worry over him all the time. I don't know if he sees or feels the weird vibes in our home and between his parents. I'm sure he senses it at times. I want the home he grows up in to be filled with joy and safety. I don't want pornography to be a part of his life. I worry all the day long. I worry about all my children. I worry about Simon. I worry about me and my life ahead. 

I pick you up, Mommy. I pick you up. 

Sometimes moms need to be picked up too. Sometimes we need someone to say, You've been so strong. Let me carry you for awhile. 

The Savior does that. He carries us. He picks us up from where we sit sobbing and scared and sorrowful. He picks us up even when we're strong and capable. He is always right there ready to catch us, soften the fall and then pick us up. 

I know He picks me up. 

And I know He places earthly angels around us that are ready to help as well. That are ready to pick us up. 

My Jimmy is an earthly angel. I'm never going to correct his grammar again. His message has too much valuable, heaven-sent meaning. I love those tender, loving words: 

I pick you up, Mommy. I pick you up.