Samuel calls for me and I can tell, by his tone, that he’s been injured.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he says. “I’m okay. But please come quickly. I’m going to need help.”
I leave the little boys at their school desks and find Samuel in the bathroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the tub and he’s holding a cloth to his foot. When I pull the cloth away, I see that there’s a jagged cut on his heel. For a moment, I wince. Then I whisper a prayer and take his hurt into my hand.
I rinse his wound with water and wash it until it’s clean.
Together we sit on the bathroom floor. I cut a pad of gauze. I apply medication. Then I wrap his foot with a wide swath of tape. Once. Twice. Later we’ll change the bandage, and I’ll wrap his wound again.
Samuel face twists for a second with pain, but mostly he is thankful. When I’m finished, he gives me a hug. Then he hobble-walks out the door.
And I sit here. Relieved.
And suddenly I’m overwhelmed with thoughts of the Lord.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)
This verse speaks to me. It’s become a personal promise. It’s hidden in my center–in the living beat of a mother’s heart. This morning’s situation with Samuel is similar to the way I’ve run, recently, to God. “Please, Father, come quickly. I’m going to need help.”
Life can bring hurt over circumstance.
We can experience the wounds of worry.
We need love, compassion, care-giving, and strength.
And He is faithful.
He binds and bandages the brokenness of my spirit. He’s stitches the seams of my soul. He takes what’s been torn and holds it together, until in His mercy and grace, I am healed.
The beauty of this settles on me today as I stand, then stoop, to gather scraps of tape and gauze.
Help for the wounded.
I extend this to my child.
And my Father extends this to me.
