The Trouble with Band-aids Pt. 2

THE FATHER'S HEART THROUGH A MOTHER'S EYES: EXPERIENCING GOD'S LOVE FOR ME THROUGH MY OWN EXPERIENCE OF LOVE FOR MY CHILDREN....

And so, we left off with my deep confession. It may be yours, too: The fear of the band-aid. The desire to be healed and tended, but the genuine, accompanying dread of the process to follow.....and the conflict therein.

You see, I love being known, no matter how I run from it.

And my kids do, too. (And YOURS do, too). You want to know how I know? Because we are all just little kids...to God. And every little example of their simple hearts are easily likened to our simple hearts and minds- to Him.

I do. I love it. I need it and crave it. As a woman, a daughter, a wife, a mother- a human being, I NEED to know that I am fully known. And for all his best efforts, my husband cannot give me that. My children cannot give me that. My girlfriends, even, come close- but cannot give it to me either. I sit alone sometimes in some variation of a long standing hurt and am keenly aware that nobody knows my sadness. Nobody here, anyway, and that sense of alone-ness makes my hurt- hurt more.

I will admit, some aspect of anyone- anyone knowing me as well as I long to be known is a bit intimidating. After all, surely you can agree with this: the closer IN someone get to your heart, simply by their knowledge of you, your heart- the more power they have to wittingly or unwittingly HURT you. Yes? Still, I want it. I long for it. It’s quite a conflict. A bit like the band-aid conflict, only not nearly as conscious a plight….


I got a sweet example the other day that took me back quite a bit, but truly reinforced this truth: No matter how scary or even 'uncomfortable' being KNOWN may be, truly, it’s what I want even more than I want to be safe from pain.......
Avery and Emerson were up early in the morning together as usual, though only Em goes to school at 8:30. They'd had breakfast and were slowly getting dressed....they were losing focus....(can you imagine?)...playing with toys, neglecting shoes/socks/backpacks......I was getting frustrated. They were in particular, fascinated with a toy stamp....(which had already become a full-sleeve tattoo for Desi when he'd gotten hold of it the day before, as well as a lovely wallpaper in the hallway when Gaby had gotten hold of it the day before that.... and was now in about 30 different green bunny-heads swiftly become a full pair of gloves all over Avery's hands...) I lost it- but am happy to say that somehow, I did so with self-control.

I spoke evenly, without too much emotion. Pure, simple. “I'm sorry. It's gone. It’s caused too much trouble already and I’m sorry, I’m just done with this toy. Sorry, guys…” and I threw it away. My mistake was apparently not so much in letting them know I would be throwing it way, but rather, doing so in front of them- mostly because Emerson is a bit of hoarder. The need to keep everything, broken or unnecessary, found on the ground- doesn’t matter. Everything needs a home. In our home….
On his way out the door about a half hour later, I caught Emerson whispering something into Avery’s ear after I’d looked up to wave one last goodbye. It occurred to me then that he was very likely giving instructions to Avery (30 minutes at least post-event) to retrieve the stamp from the garbage at his earliest ability. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it, but simply knowing Em the way I do brought back the situation to my mind.
Luckily, Avery is about as flighty in his attention span as I right now, so we both immediately forgot the stamp again after Em’s departure. Around 11, while getting Avy ready for school, it occurred to me again. I looked at Avy and simply asked him, “Hey, Av. When Em was leaving for school and he whispered in your ear, did he say something like, “Avy, when Mama isn’t looking, get that little stamp back out of the garbage and hide it…Ok?”

If I could have captured my 5 year olds’ face at that moment, it would be my forever reminder of this love to be known. It was a perfect mixture of shock, wonder and …. Adoration?

Avery had an immediate response, but NOT the one I anticipated. FAR from it, in fact. He ran straight to me, with his hand still over his mouth and threw his arms around my waist. I thought we’d both go down, he hit me so hard. I was bewildered and probably every bit as shocked as he had been only a moment before. What was this? What happened to, “Aw shucks, she caught us,” and all that???????

He said only one thing. And the authenticity still gives me a bit of a fist in my throat: “Mama, you’re the BEST Mama in the whole world!!!”- and through all my wonder, his arms held fast around me. He literally melted into my side for minutes on end as I gathered my reaction and attempted to reframe it as the picture of what it really was.
The LOVE of being known.

In the honesty of a child, he simply by-passed getting caught, losing the stamp, even the shock/wonder or frustration of feeling like he’s been caught in something….and dove straight into the comfort and security and LOVE of the frail little human heart that desperately longs to be KNOWN. His reaction was completely based on knowing he had a built in security, an automatic acceptance- a proven awareness that he could neither slip through the cracks or off my radar- even if he momentarily wanted to. He felt safe. Known. Seen. Treasured.

His response of love proved it.

I was not the evil Mama who threw a toy away. I was the best Mama in the world for knowing what was going on in those two little hearts, devious or not- and he simply couldn’t contain the assurance of my love that came along with it.

I recognized myself there, and remembered the band-aid. The desire to be tended to…the anticipation of hurt that may come in sticking it on. The truth that my Father, the best Father in the whole world, knows my heart as well as the healing process going on beneath the band-aid, and when exactly to take it back off- even the momentary hurt that accompanies it.
He knows me. He knows my wounds. He knows my every little itty-bitty particle of composition. I AM safe, band-aid fears and all, as long as I’m this sure of that.

And guess what? You are, too.

The Trouble with Band-aids

THE FATHER'S HEART THROUGH A MOTHER'S EYES: EXPERIENCING GOD'S LOVE FOR ME THROUGH MY OWN EXPERIENCE OF LOVE FOR MY CHILDREN....

It’s a love-hate thing with band-aids

The funny thing - they tend to hurt on both sides of the process…it can be rather confusing, don’t you think?

You know the drill.... Your child wants one intensely- or absolutely does not, and every bit as vehemently. He cries for one when he sees the pink of a scrape or the crimson of a cut, then refuses it as his attention drifts to watching you prepare it. Watching you move in, closer and closer to the point of contact.
You know why. Let’s face it. No matter the intention of a band-aid. No matter the medication on it or the end result in mind- the sticking ON and peeling OFF, just plain hurts. Your child knows it. That’s why she cries. You know it too, that’s why her cry hurts your heart and not your ears. BUT, being older and wiser, you have expanded knowledge of the process occurring in between. You have the capacity to let intellect a focal point on the horizon- Healing- and can skip over the journey, in part. You know the pain is worth the pay off. The sticking on lasts one second- then comes relief. The peeling off lasts one second, revealing the magic of the band-aid: Restoration. Repair. Regeneration.

Somehow, though- this doesn’t deflate the crisis of the band-aid. For either of you. They don’t want to hurt, even for a second. And you don’t want them to either. You certainly don’t want to be the one adding to their wound…but it’s a tricky business loving someone else more than they love themselves. Being torn between ‘saving’ them from feelings and doing what is for their greater good. And therein lies the conflict with band-aids.

For all of us. Even God, I think.

“So He became their Savior.
In all their affliction, He was afflicted.
And the angel of His presence saved them;
In His love in and in His mercy He redeemed them;
And He lifted them and carried them-”

This is only one of a tight little fistful of verses I love to keep wadded up in my heart. When the Word of God speaks to me of Jesus understanding when, where and why I hurt- how it differs from every other person on this planet- (not because no other person has been wounded in similar ways, but because my heart was fashioned uniquely, Ps 119- and my response to these wounds is, accordingly, unique-) when the Word reassures me of this, I feel safe even inside my crippled state. Mental. Physical. Emotional. That He knit me in my mother’s womb. That He knows me better than I know myself. That my own heart can deceive me, but He cannot. That He is mindful of my frame, how truly like ‘dust’ I am…. I love to know these truths- that Jesus alone has intimate knowledge of the fine line defining where my sorrows or my afflictions differ from anyone else’s.

And I love to know this because I don’t want to be alone there. In the times I am hurt. Or alone. Or afraid. Others may say they understand- and can try. But they don’t have MY heart or its responses. They don’t have my reasons, my own perspective or frame around the events that landed me wherever I sit, crying like a little girl (even if only inside.) Bottom line: They don’t KNOW ME. Only He does.

As a mother, we can’t KNOW our children the way only HE does either. But we’re most definitely next in line. Can’t you sometimes see a look on your child’s face and KNOW the emotion behind it- even before full expression has been revealed? A sliver of a wrinkle on the brow? A down-cast glance. A drop of the shoulders or even a slowing of pace? Sometimes, something even less. But YOU see it. Probably only YOU see it. And it moves you, literally. It’s the black and white checkered flag. Engines rev. Mama moves… Because you can’t stand them to be in pain- because you can feel that pain as much as anyone on Earth can. And you can’t stand it.

I know I can’t. Example:

One day I knew ahead of time that the boys would be getting shots at school and I was a mess all day. I had prepped them, without wanting to fill the first half of their day with dread, with all I could - comfort and reassurance in the ‘what if…’ realm. “I want you to know that if anything scares you, or makes you feel hurt or afraid, I want you to remember that even if I’m not there….I’m there in your heart. And GOD IS there. Right next to you. You just hold on for one second, and remember that, ok?” Bewildered faces. Uncomprehending “Ok’s” and off they went- straight into the day with no clue what was awaiting them.

I agonized all day long. Should I show up un-announced? To be there beside them? Would it embarrass them? If I shielded them from everything, how would God get to reveal Himself in HIS OWN WAY to them. Did I trust Him enough to let it go and LET Him be there? I watched the clock. I paced around the house. I hated the day. I did. Rediculous, right? But I knew my children would feel fear that day and I wouldn’t be there. They would feel pain, and be afraid to cry in front of the other kids, have to stuff their feelings, endure it alone… I wouldn’t be there. I almost couldn’t stand it. It took FAR more discipline and trust and faith for ME to make it through the day, than for them. That’s how it is for parents- moms in particular. It hurts when your child hurts.

I waited in line in the car, nervous, nearly retching, to find their faces in the crowd of kids swarming the cars at pick-up time. They came out smiling, running to race each other to the car, bursting in the side doors to tell me something of this or that about their class or their friends…..and oh by the way- we got shots today! I rolled my eyes at my self and my wasted day. But I can’t help myself. I’m their mother. It’s what I do.

I’m pretty sure it’s what God does, too. Even though He allows the pain to come. He let’s us grow through things, even possibly feeling alone- to teach us how to recognized HIM there, in the midst of our collision and woundedness so we’ll KNOW we’re not. Not really. But it takes discipline I’m SURE. Think He doesn’t WANT to come racing down to save us from the wreck before we have to live with the wreckage? He does. Think He doesn’t agonize over if or not to let us spill tears when He could just eliminate the source of sadness before it strikes? Think He didn’t have to use every bit of self control to NOT save His own child from the treachery of the cross? Think he wouldn’t rather just wrap us all up, the way I sometimes want to wrap my own babies up, and tell us to “put your goggles on and get back in bed!”? Keep us safe from the world? Shielded. Naïve, but safe?

He would. He’d rather we never felt a twinge of an ache in body or heart. Read Isaiah. Read Jeremiah. He’d rather carry us above it all and care for us as the Ewe cares for her lambs. But that would never help us in the long run. If he saved us from all pain- we know it would eliminate free choice. Others’ free choice is often the reason for our hurt. Our free choice, often the reason for our own or others’ hurt. And we know He has chosen against that in favor of true love. So that option is out.

But the band-aid issue is not. What if He wouldn’t stick one on for sake of the single moment of contact? Or because of the single moment of peeling it back off? Would He ever sacrifice our healing for those two tiny moments? Even if we asked Him to?
Confession: I ask Him to all the time. I pretty much AM any one of my children at any given time, wounded, craving comfort and longing for tender-loving aid, but then reeling back in resistance when He offers the first step in the healing process. The stick-on. Never mind. I’ll tend to it myself. Let it fester. Let it drag on and on and on. I’ll ‘deal’ with it…….forever, as opposed to taking the steps.

Because they hurt. And I’m not looking for anything else to add to my hurt.

My major shortcoming? Fear of the band-aid....

Pt 2 on the way!