God calls us that. His beloved. Beloved children, beloved creation.
Even on the days when we falter. Even on the days when life stares Beloved in the face and says otherwise. Even in the moments when Beloved is a short stack compared to all our mess, all our stuff.
Beloved is at its best in the same frame as the baggage. Beloved is not in spite of baggage; Beloved is because of it all.
Beloved is not immediate rescue, not immediate swoop in and save that damsel from her distress. Beloved is peace amidst distress, hope amidst distress, grace amidst distress. Beloved is hope.
We are his Beloved . . . in belief and in unbelief. Praiseworthy.