We stood at the kitchen island cutting vegetables for dinner when I looked down at my youngest’s hand and saw a weird, gray spot. I asked him what was on his hand and he said, “It’s a cut.” As closely as my bifocaled vision would allow, I examined the scab and declared it strange. ⠀
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“That doesn’t look quite right,” I told him, and he panicked, “Am I going to die?” My less than compassionate reply included responses like: "It’s a scab. It looks infected. It’s definitely weird. No, you aren’t going to die. But also, we’ve got to do something to help it heal right. Cuz that ain’t normal."⠀
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Secretly, I wanted to just remove the whole scab right then. Just tear it off. But since this little man was already panicked about his life expectancy, we chose instead to put boo-boo cream on it, and cover it. Satisfied with that, we forgot about it until the next day.⠀
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The next morning’s bandaid removal was so dramatic that I swear I heard music. Its red edges had retreated, changed to an almost comforting pink. The scab had come off, the tender skin healing.⠀
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My instinct to just rip it off was harsh and jarring compared with this softer approach to treat it, cover it, and give it time. ⠀
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But I don’t always know the wisest way to heal from what hurts. ⠀
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A bandaid and some boo-boo cream expose my need to also surrender my own deeper wounds to the gentle covering God offers. Ripping at the surface and rushing the healing miss what first must happen in places I can’t reach. My wounds need the kind of healing that begins in deeper places, in quiet places that only God sees. With His time, His care, and His covering, the tender healing He brings will rise to the surface.
Read the rest at The Joyful Life Magazine.