The child looked up with wide, wondering eyes, their voice barely above a whisper. "Mama?" Mama turned, a tender smile on her lips, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from the child's forehead. "Yes, my love?"

"Why does God love me?" Mama leaned closer, her voice low and gentle. "That’s a very important question."

"Before you were born, God already knew you," Mama said, her hand resting over the child's heart. "He had plans for you." A hush filled the room, as if time paused to listen.

"God made you carefully—your smile, your thoughts, your heart. You are wonderfully made." The child smiled shyly, comforted by the loving touch.

"When Jesus came, He showed us what God’s love looks like. He welcomed children and said they belonged with Him." The child listened, eyes wide with wonder at the thought of such boundless welcome.

"God loves you no matter where you come from," Mama continued. "No matter your skin, your family, or your story."

"Black children. Mexican American children. Native children. Indian American children. God made every one with purpose."

"God doesn’t love us because we behave perfectly," Mama said. "He loves us because we are His children."

"When you feel brave—God loves you. When you feel afraid—God loves you."

"When you make mistakes, God’s love does not leave. Nothing can separate you from His love." The child looked up, relief flickering across their face.

"So God loves me always?" Mama nodded, her eyes bright and kind. "Always."

"God’s love is bigger than fear. Stronger than doubt."

"And Jesus shows us that love every day."

"I feel safe," the child whispered. "That’s God’s love," Mama said, her arm drawing the child closer.

"Thank You, God, for loving me forever. Amen."