Hosea 11:1-4: “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt i called my son. But the more they called, the more they went away from me. They sacrifice to the Baals and they burned incense to images. It was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by the arms; but they did not realize it was I who healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love. To them i was like one who lifts a little child to the creek, and i bent down to feed them.

Meaning: God had constantly provided for his people. but they refused to see what he had done, and they had shown no interest in thanking him. Ungratefulness is a common human fault. For example, when was the last time you thanked your parents for caring for you? Your pastors for the service they give your church? Your child’s teacher for the care taken with each day’s activities? Your heavenly Father for his guidance? Many of the benefits and privileges we enjoy are the results of loving actions done by others, even long ago. Look for these acts of love and service and thank those who make the world better through their love. But begin by thanking God for all his Blessings.

Here you go, my friend — stretched out, boho-earthy, a little stormy, a lot soul-bared. Let me know if you want it even wilder or softer in any direction:

Reflection: What did I not get as a child that I long for now?

This one lands heavy in my chest, like a question that’s been circling the edges of my mind for years but never dared sit down in the center. When I trace my memories back through all the smoke and rubble of childhood, I realize just how many pieces of myself I never got to grow with… how many things I never had enough of, or at all.

First, I long for genuine connection — the kind that feels rooted, warm, and real. Growing up, there was always this invisible wall between me and the people who were supposed to be my people. My siblings kept their distance early on, and I learned to pretend like that didn’t hurt. Later in adolescence, it felt like everyone was speaking a language I didn’t know. Nobody understood me; nobody cared to. I was always the strange, quiet constellation on the outer edge of everyone else’s sky. It wasn’t until I got older — and my addiction years began — that I found “connection,” but it was the kind that grows out of wounds, not love. Trauma bonds masquerading as relationships. Now that I’m older, I can see they weren’t connections at all… just survival tactics stitched between broken people. Today I crave the real thing: honest, rooted, soul-safe connection.

And then there’s safety. God, do I long for that. My entire life has been a front-row seat to every kind of abuse imaginable. Physical, emotional, sexual, spiritual — you name it, I’ve seen it. Because of that, my body still lives in survival mode. Fight-or-flight is baked into my bones. Even around people who haven’t given me a single reason to doubt them, I wait for the moment they flip. I scan for danger even when the room is quiet. I assume ill intentions even when someone’s offering kindness. I never feel physically safe, and I sure as hell never feel emotionally safe. Even family feels like a gamble, a place where the heart can be bruised just as easily as the body.

I also long — deeply, achingly — for the guidance of a mother. Not just a woman who occupies the role, but one who sees me, claims me, guides me, laughs with me, holds me, teaches me. I have my stepmom, and she loves me in her own way. But she doesn’t give advice the way I imagine my mother would have. I miss something I barely got to have: the nails-done afternoons, the gossip over iced coffees, the gentle nudges toward better choices, the feeling of being someone’s daughter in a world that often made me raise myself. I long for that soft place to land.

And maybe the biggest ache of all… I long for protection. I have never been protected — not as a child, not as a teen, and honestly, not even now as an adult. People don’t have to put their hands on you to hurt you. Sometimes the emotional cuts bleed the worst. My whole life has been a battlefield where I’ve had to hold my own shield, tend my own wounds, and guard my own heart because nobody else stepped in to do it. People tear me down without even realizing they’re ripping through fresh stitches. Every time it happens, a tiny piece of me cracks. Just once, I want someone to stand between me and the world, to say, “I’ve got you. Rest.”

Because truthfully? I’m tired. Tired of holding up all the beams that keep the wall around my heart from collapsing. Tired of pretending that I don’t need softness and safety and connection. A defense mechanism can only take so many blows before it shatters, and I feel mine trembling.

So what do I long for now? Connection. Safety. Guidance. Protection. The things every child deserves, and every adult still needs. The things my younger self never got… and my grown self is finally brave enough to name.

XOXO, The Healing Wildflower