“This will sting for a few seconds.” I blew my breath on the newly scraped flesh.
I ran toward my five-year-old as he limped nearer. Tears flowing down his cheeks increased with the sight of me and blood oozing from his knee. A kiss, bandaid, tear-wiping, and mom-cuddles will make it better.
Both of my children had their share of minor mishaps. Megan fractured her finger from a fall playing outside. But adventure and mischief joined forces when it came to my son, Caleb.
“Mom, watch this.” Bike wrecks and jumps from things oh-so-high. Roller skates would not cooperate with his feet and he experienced numerous run-ins with the concrete at the swimming pool. Usually, the lifeguard’s whistle came too late—busted lip or knee. A corroboration that hard surfaces are not our friends and adversaries of mothers.
Knees, elbows, and shins are tender places. The good Lord knew how to construct the human body. This I know. But Lord, the padding is sparse on certain parts.
Pads for the knees and elbows, and helmets are welcomed safeguards. Mothers around the globe are thankful. Yet, they secretly wish for rolls of industrial-strength bubble wrap. My son would have benefited from a mommy and mummy’s bubble wrap encasement.
They happen. Little mishaps of a cut or bruise. Minor first aid required. Cleaning a fresh wound stings. “Ouch! It’s burning! It hurts!” Leaning in close, I blew my breath on the stinging. Hoping to override the pain until it subsides. That’s what moms do. We make it better.
I passed on the easy-to-bruise trait to my children. Bruises in a variety of shape and size appear on our earth suits. At times, evidence of memory, I bumped into the corner of the bookshelf. Often the aftermath of something not recollected, How did that get there?
In life’s stages of childhood, teen, and young adult, my children lacked padding on certain parts. The tender places—hearts, minds, feelings, and broken spirits. As their mom, I desired nothing more than to make it better. I still do.
I run toward them as they limp nearer. But I can’t always make it better. I may not know or understand to ask, “how did that get there?”
I ponder, Did she bump into the corner of life’s mishap shelf? Maybe he had a run-in with the concrete in life. The whistle came too late. The hard surfaces of life are not his friends.
Children carry invisible scars. Inside ouches. And we carry them. Moms and dads, and people of various ages and roles.
Tender places needing care from our heavenly Father.
“Come, my children, and listen to me, and I will teach you to fear the Lord” Psalm 34:11 NLT.
God is near.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed” Psalm 34:18 NLT.
The breath of heaven blows on newly scraped and tender places until the pain subsides. Healing for broken people. A kissing-tear-wiping-make-it-better-kind-of-love. From God. For His children.
Christ runs toward us as we limp nearer to Him.
Featured image courtesy of Unsplash.com.