Wrapped Right Round

When I am least. The most unsure. That's when it happens.
I am wrapped right round.
With grace, sufficient.
Like cloak, pulled tight. On bitter mornings.
He comes.
Holding me snug. In arms, strong, sure.
He hides my lack, my least-ness.
He becomes protective, as shell upon turtle, spindly.
He does what I can not.
And I am wrapped right round with Him.
He moves in me like crab in empty casing.
Taking me places, unexpected.
But only when I confess. I am empty.
That I am less.
Only then.
Am I wrapped right round.