The old house I was born in had a closet under the stairs, stairs which went up to the attic. There was a curtain covering the little opening to that space. Mom stored all the bedding for a family of ten there. Of course, summers held much more material than winter. In my early youth, there were times that I would escape there when I was confused by life on the planet.
The old house no longer exists, but I still need a place to hide sometimes. Now it is in a person whom I was introduced to in 1974. His name is Jesus and He is my hiding place.
For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
Hebrews 4:13
And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.
He’s a good place to hide. Give it some thought.
Gary