Why Secure Attachment Begins in the Heart of God

I don’t know a single one of us who hasn’t, in some quiet moment, felt a flicker of resistance toward God we’d never say out loud. That’s exactly why I love Dr. Alison Cook (whose previous books I have read several times!). She’s a Christian therapist who has spent decades helping people tend to their souls, and she has a rare gift: she tells the truth about her inner world so honestly that you find yourself breathing easier, a little less alone in your own struggle. Today she takes us on a late-night prayer walk through the streets of London, where she stumbles onto a surprising, tender truth about a young part of herself—and about the God she thought she knew. What she discovers there is the beating heart of her beautiful new book, The Secure Soul. Friends, read this one slowly. It’s one that stays with you. It’s a joy to welcome Dr. Alison to the farm’s table today…

Guest post by Dr. Alison Cook

A part of me doesn’t like God very much.

I discover this surprising truth on a late-night prayer walk.

I am on a trip with my husband in London. He has invited me to join him for an evening prayer walk beneath the electric, pulsing lights of Regent Street.

I feel giddy as we head out of our hotel. I’m aware that my husband is trying to pray, but I cannot stop myself from tugging at his arm, like a child. He laughs and plays along.

After a few back-and-forths, I surrender, and we sink into the silence of our own thoughts, walking deeper into the city lights.

This is a prayer walk, I think. I really should pray.

But a part of me doesn’t want to. And that’s when I notice this feeling inside me—a very distinct feeling of I don’t like God very much.

It’s coming from a young place within, a girl inside who was over the moon with joy to be seeing the sights of London. She’s here with me now and wants nothing to do with God . . . or anything that smacks of religiosity, for that matter.

I am surprised.

Most of me is quite fond of God and enjoys talking with him. But tonight, this young part of me is stubbornly insistent. So I decide to get curious about her, a tactic I have helped others practice for decades.

Okay. We don’t have to pray. But while we walk, can I try to understand why you don’t like God very much?

He’s no fun! That’s the first thing I sense. What follows is a cascade of images: stiff church clothes, overly wrought religious discussions, warnings not to giggle too much. In her world, God is more like a strict school principal than a wonder-seeking playmate. 

She is alive with curiosity and delight. It’s no wonder she doesn’t want to connect with this God who—in her mind—is a buzzkill, more concerned with rules than relationship, more focused on her performance than her delight.

I’m tempted to talk her out of these feelings, to quote Bible verses about what God is really like. But I recognize that reasoning with her is not what she needs. She is responding to my presence, to my being with her. So I continue to attune to her.

If you start to pray, you’ll leave me.

I’m taken aback by this more vulnerable feeling.

I flash to a memory of an early encounter with my stepchildren, back when love was still finding its way. Their mom had passed away when they were very young, and I had just started dating their dad. Early on, they would wriggle their bodies in between their dad and me. They didn’t mind my presence, as long as it was clear that I would not come between their bond with him.

You’re afraid that if I turn toward God, I’ll turn away from you?

I sense an inner shrug from her, a sort of, I can’t help how I feel.

I turn my attention to God, who is also there with us, though this young one doesn’t yet know it. “What do you make of this?” I ask with wide eyes.

Stay with her, God says. She needs you.

I think what I’m really trying to tell you through this story is that I have attachment issues.

We all do, really. 

Some of us more than others.

We feel anxious about connecting with others, and sometimes, we feel anxious about connecting with God.

Because at its core, attachment is just a more specific name for our deepest need for connection.
Our need for presence.
Our need to be held.
Our need to know we are not alone.
In short, our need for love.

For most of my life, I assumed the answer to the loneliness I felt inside was to work harder—to pray more, do more, prove myself worthy. But slowly I’ve come to understand that the ache went much deeper than anything effort could reach.

On that late-night prayer walk in London, a young part of my soul was reaching out. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to pray. It was that she wanted something she hadn’t yet learned to associate with God.

She wanted closeness. Companionship. To be with someone. What she needed wasn’t more explanation, but a new way to connect.

It wasn’t that God wasn’t near. He was. It’s that a part of my soul hadn’t yet learned how to trust him.

Have you ever ached to feel God’s love but couldn’t seem to find it? 

What if the distance you’ve felt was never a failure of faith, but a signal that part of your soul never fully received the love it needed? 

What if the answer was never more effort? Never more shame? 

What if the answer has always been Love?

Secure attachment begins in the heart of God. It flows through imperfect human bonds, shaping our souls in real and embodied ways. And it always calls us back to its Source, back to the One who made us to live securely held in Love, even when human love falls short.

And the rediscovery of that Love—the journey back to that secure base—begins inside us. 

“Secure attachment begins in the heart of God.“

It starts the moment you tell the truth about where you are: I’m lonely. I’ve been hurt. I’m scared to trust. That honesty opens a door. And from that open place you can return to God’s presence, to Love itself. Not to fix yourself or change anyone else, but to the truth of what already is:

I am held, even in this painful moment.

I am loved, even though I feel alone.

I am known, in all of what I’m feeling.

You’ve heard people say, “God meets you where you are.” I’m saying something a little different: God is already here. 

In the beginning, God didn’t love from afar; he walked with humanity “in the cool of the day.”

And through the slow work of becoming a secure soul, every part of you can learn what it feels like to walk with the fullness of Love. 

One day you’ll see it clearly: you were never chasing love all those years. Love was always chasing you.

Recognize:

I’m aching for God…

Return:

I am loved, even here.…