To the Child God Is Still Holding
Somewhere in this universe, I believe your soul already exists.
Maybe not in my arms yet.
Maybe not in this world yet.
But somewhere beyond what human eyes can fully understand, I believe God is still holding you gently.
Protecting you.
Preparing you.
Waiting for the exact moment our lives meet.
And somehow… even before meeting you, I already love you.
I think babies arrive into this world carrying something sacred adults slowly lose over time.
Purity.
Not weakness.
Not ignorance.
Purity.
A closeness to love.
To truth.
To emotion.
To intuition.
To God.
Children feel energy before they understand language.
They know who is safe.
Who is angry.
Who is gentle.
Who is pretending.
Who loves them honestly.
Sometimes I think babies see the world more clearly than adults do because they have not yet learned how to disconnect from their instincts.
Their souls still remember softness.
That is why I believe hurting a child — even emotionally — matters more deeply than many people realize.
Children arrive here spiritually open.
Emotion enters them deeply.
Love enters them deeply.
Fear enters them deeply.
The way we speak to children becomes the voice they carry inside themselves for years.
The way we love them becomes the way they learn love.
And maybe that is why becoming a parent feels so sacred to me.
Because raising a child is not only feeding a body.
It is shaping a soul.
This book is not written by a mother who has already held her baby.
It is written by a woman dreaming of the day she finally does.
A woman who already wonders:
- what your laugh will sound like,
- what your tiny hands will feel like,
- whether you will have my eyes,
- whether you will run to me after bad dreams,
- whether you will know every single day how deeply loved you are.
I do not dream of becoming the perfect mother to the world.
I dream of becoming a safe place for one child.
I want you to grow up feeling emotionally full — not only financially secure.
I want you to feel safe telling me the truth.
Safe making mistakes.
Safe crying.
Safe being yourself.
I want our home to feel peaceful, warm, soft, and emotionally alive.
I want you to know love that does not disappear when life becomes difficult.
Because too many people grow older carrying wounds that began in childhood silence.
I never want you to question whether you are loved.
I want to say it constantly.
Every day if I can.
Not because love should be earned—
but because children deserve to hear it freely.
And one day, when I become old and your life grows bigger than mine, I hope you build a beautiful family of your own.
I hope the kindness I give you becomes kindness you pass forward.
I hope the emotional safety you feel with me becomes safety your children feel with you.
Because maybe the greatest inheritance a parent can leave behind is not money.
Maybe it is emotional peace.
Maybe it is a child who grows up knowing:
“I was loved gently.”
This book is for you.
For the child I have not met yet.
For the soul God is still protecting somewhere beyond this world.
And until the day I finally hold you myself—
I find comfort believing one beautiful truth:
Before the world touches you,
God is holding you first.
