Blankies

My son has a blankie. He loves it. This blue and yellow square of fabric has been well-loved and carried everywhere. It shows it and smells it.
I love to watch him love it. He cradles it in his arms, hugs it, strokes it, rubs it between his fingers, chews on it, smells it and never shares it. He especially enjoys one particular corner that is a darker shade than the rest of the blanket and has a worn-through spot from his incessant rubbing. When he is comforting himself and trying to fall asleep, I enjoy watching him savor his beloved blankie.
I've noticed something interesting. When he is hurt and John and I are trying to console him, just the mention of his blankie is comforting, even before it is within sight. Blankie makes everything alright. Blankie brings immediate peace and comfort.
Jesus should be my blankie. If only I savored Him the same way my son savors his treasured blankie. Why don't I immediately turn to my Jesus when I'm hurt or scared? He brings immediate peace and comfort. Why don't I spend that quiet time relishing my Jesus, allowing Him to rock me to sleep?