I push pen to skin, ignoring the memories of my mother's voice, scolding me for writing all over myself. psalm 18:19. I can't remember the first part of it without looking it up, but I remember how the words, "He rescued me because He delights in me" felt against my heart when He first pressed them there. There's always been something about that word. delight. To know that someone finds me delightful. Such a blessing.
My husband delights in me, and he tells me so often. But not too often that it loses significance. Just when I am feeling low enough to sink back into old habits bred in fear and disillusionment. When I am at the edge of something dark, "He leads me to a place of safety. He rescued me because He delights in me." He speaks through him.