The Memory of Comfort: A Desire for Peace

Some memories aren’t tied to grand moments, but to simple sensations. One of my earliest memories, almost as vivid as the joy I felt lying on my parents' bed, is of a feeling of deep comfort... a memory that shaped my pursuit of peace and warmth in the years to come.

Before I could speak, I knew what it meant to feel safe.

Before I ever had the words to describe what peace felt like, I experienced it. I was just a child... too young to understand where I was or why I was there. But I remember the bed. ☁️

It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t my parents’. It belonged to a friend of the family, someone whose home I probably can’t recall today. But that bed? That moment? It’s forever etched into me.

The blankets were heavy in the best way. The pillow cradled my head just right. The air was still, and the lighting was soft. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to leave. For the first time, I understood what it meant to feel... held. Not just by a mattress, but by something unseen. Something holy. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I see it was the hand of God resting gently over me.

Even as a toddler, before I knew what the word “comfort” meant, I knew I didn’t want that feeling to end. 🕊

I didn’t know that the days ahead would be stormy. I didn’t know how much confusion, heartbreak, and trauma would soon come. But in that moment, I had peace. God gave me a memory to hold onto, a still point in the chaos to come. A signpost, reminding me: You will always have a place of rest in Me.

As I look back, I believe He gave me that memory on purpose. It was a seed planted deep in my soul. A reminder that when the noise gets loud, and the world feels cruel, there is still a rest that cannot be shaken.

Jesus says, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

Even before I could read those words, He was already showing me the truth of them. 🤍