I tried to remember when I began to talk to you. I am not sure when that started. I don't mean the prayers of a little girl with folded hands, I mean when this conversation with you started. 
I know at some point I began to write to you and you would speak to me. It was not a one way conversation. You gave me answers, you gave me hope.

But that was not the first time you talked to me. There were no words. I was a little girl,  and now I see how you were careful to not frighten me. You spoke through the wind and the rustling of leaves. You spoke strength and safety and greater things.
You spoke in the coolness of the clover, the sweetness of their blossoms.  In the blue of the skies, the changing of the seasons. I heard you. You gave me hope. 

You spoke in a dream to me as a child, but I didn't understand fully until I was grown. You came as a Lion and a mighty wind blew the front door open of our shabby little home of poverty and domestic abuse. As a Mighty Lion, you stood upright in a flowing robe, and a crown was on your head, and you moved with a rushing wind that blew like a hurricane through the rooms of our sad, violent home. 

I didn't get it then. I learned much later.  You are the Lion of Judah, and you saved me.