I Am Marked

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.

—Isaiah 49:15–16

He left it on my desk, right before he walked out the door for another day of kindergarten. A large, eleven-by-seventeen creation with the letters of his name printed in thick red and black marker. He wanted to leave his mark where I wouldn’t miss it. As if he feared I’d forget about him while he was gone.

It has been nearly five years since he joined our family, a little boy from a hard background enveloped into a family determined to make him feel safe, loved. Within a month of his arrival, we nicknamed him Radar. Because from the moment he wakes up until his head hits the pillow at night, he’s pinging the world with constant reminders that he exists.

Some days he does this by following his dad from room to room, afraid to let him leave his sight, fearing he might be left behind. Other days—most days—he says “I love you” a hundred times, ping after ping from an eight-year-old desperate for a hundred “I love you’s” in return.

It’s been a struggle for me, his never-assuaged neediness. I understand the hurt behind it, the attachment wounds that fuel his fear and insecurity. But the depth of his void can be overwhelming. I can hold his face in my hands, look deep into his brown eyes, and offer my most earnest “I love you.” But like a black hole that swallows every hint at light, five minutes later he’s back, needing more.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

I shake my head and wonder, What will it take to fill his heart, once and for all? I don’t know. I just don’t know. And so I pray that the God who sees this boy’s deepest needs will, somehow, heal him.

Today, as I think of his eleven-by-seventeen art, I see how very much like me he is. Like all of us. We too have fearsome black holes in need of filling. We too ping the world with our presence, asking for reassurance that we matter.

Some days it looks like too many hours online, back-to-back coffee dates, or a nagging critical attitude. But sometimes our radar pings aren’t so pretty. Hiding a deep hole, we pout and throw tantrums of adult-sized proportions. We complain, attack, accuse, overreact, and throw ourselves at near strangers, asking them to follow us, friend us, and value our offerings. Behind the meltdown, our need is the same:

But a thousand radar pings aren’t going to fill our void. They might afford us a few quick affirmations or momentary sympathies. But eventually the black hole of need swallows up even the best attempts to make us feel loved.

To know we matter comes from within, not without. It’s not an external filling, worldly affirmations collected one Facebook friend and coffee date at a time. Significance isn’t an external number but an internal assurance. My value—your value—isn’t subject to public scrutiny or a vote. It’s not based on that painful criticism you received or the long history of mistakes you’ve made. And it’s not sourced in the “I love you’s” you solicit or the accolades you merit.

It’s based not on anything you do but on the fact that you are.

“I have engraved you on the palms of my hands,” God says (Isa. 49:16). He tattoos your existence in this world—your name—on His very self. No need to leave an eleven-by-seventeen reminder of your presence. No fear He’ll forget you once He gets busy with the tasks of the day.

You are His. Marked in red marker on His hands. He can no more remove you from His thoughts than He can separate His arm from His body.

God’s personal love is the putty that fills our cracks. When we know our value to God and secure our lives on that truth, one hundred “I love you’s” don’t disappear into a black hole of need. They simply add to what the one who made us already said is true.

It won’t be easy to live marked by the unfailing love of God. One moment you’ll feel all warm and fuzzy with it, the next you’ll doubt it. It’s far easier to follow other people around, waiting and hoping to be loved.

But never forget: Only God’s love is a sure thing. Only God’s love marks us in permanent ink and never rubs off. We’re loved, wanted, and never, ever forgotten.

The maker of the stars would rather die for you than live without you. And that is a fact. So if you need to brag, brag about that.

—MAX LUCADO, TRAVELING LIGHT