The other night I was at a church function for Valentine's Day. I was standing up on the stage with some others, competing in a silly Family Feud-style game.
There was a rustle in the audience. I looked out and saw, crawling away from the banquet tables, my baby daughter. She was crawling towards me, a determined expression on her face. She would put her head down and crawl across the carpet, then stop and raise her head to see where I was and adjust course. When she finally reached the stage, she started climbing painstakingly, determinedly up the stairs to where I stood at the top.
Before she could get all the way up, I stepped down and swooped her into my arms. Snug there against me in front of everyone, she looked perfectly contented, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. I held her for the remainder of the on-stage activity.
I had felt such warmth and affection as I watched her crawling away from everyone else and towards me. She had single-minded focus and would not be content until she was in my arms. I felt proud of her. She had acknowledged me before others, and I was certainly proud to acknowledge her as mine to the entire assembled audience.
"I tell you the truth, everyone who acknowledges me publicly here on earth, the Son of Man will also acknowledge in the presence of God's angels. But anyone who denies me here on earth will be denied before God's angels."