He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3, NIV)
“What do you think, Mom?” Isaiah asks. He plunks down at the breakfast table. His eyes are wide and hopeful. And there’s a half-moon of color, like a watercolor brushstroke, under the right one.
“I think you’re well on your way to a shiner,” I say.
Isaiah beams. To him, the smallest of five brothers, this is a big deal. A rite of passage. It makes him a bona fide member of the brotherhood.
“Good,” he says. He fidgets in his chair and then rests his folded arms on worn cherry wood. “How long do you think it will last?” he asks.
“At least a week,” I say.
And his joy shines like the morning sun.
With boys, black eyes and bruises are a part of the game. Last week alone we had a goose egg on the head, a scraped belly, two banged up knees, and four feet full of slivers. There were also several scuffed elbows from a wild flight down our curved stairs and a heel full of blisters from a new pair of soccer shoes.
Hard as I try, I can’t protect my boys from spills and falls and bumps and bruises.
And hard as I try, I can’t fully protect their hearts.
Lonny and I recently shared deep conversation about a circumstance with one of our sons. We decided that one of the most difficult challenges, the thing that seems to go against our strong parental nature, is watching a child hurt. We do our best to prepare and provide, but we can’t live in this world and avoid trouble.
And we can’t always protect those we love from pain. Sometimes the struggle is of a physical nature, like the bumps and bruises of this past week.
But more often, it’s an emotional wound. Sometimes the hurt comes from circumstance beyond a boy’s control. Other times, the pain is the result of a choice–one of those live-and-learn experiences that are common to us all.
It can be a hard deal for a parent.
My only peace is in knowing that the Lord is with my children in their pain.
From Psalm 147:3, we can learn something about the nature of God: He’s attentive, tender, and kind. He draws near to the brokenhearted. He is not a removed God observing from afar. He doesn’t abandon my boys in their struggles. He’s quite the opposite!
During the inevitable aches of life, He holds my sons. He comforts them. He meets them with mercy and grace. He’s able to go to places in their pain that a flesh-and-blood parent cannot.
God’s love is a healing balm that reaches into sacred space.
Lonny and I are understanding, as a couple of our boys reach into manhood, that these times of pain can be rich, important times. In their struggles, our boys are learning to call on their Father. And the Lord provides strength. He brings direction. He showers them with strong, intimate love.
And when the going gets tough, He binds their wounds.
Isaiah gets up from his chair and disappears into the bathroom. When he returns he’s holding a mirror.
“I think I look cool, Mom. Do you think I look cool, too?”
I take his small face in my hands and admire the whisper shades of blue and green. Then I give him a swift kiss on the nose.
“Very cool,” I say.
To be honest, I don’t quite share his affinity for this wounded eye. My boys’ flesh is precious to me, and I prefer it healthy and intact.
Same with their hearts.
But I’m grateful for our Father, who is the companion-healer-caregiver to my sons.
And I have confidence in his never-ending love.
