I looked down
and realized I had done something really stupid. I am pretty good at stupid and I have learned
stupid isn’t so bad if you react well and if you learn fast.
I saw the
broken piece of ceramic had sliced the inside of my foot and it was bleeding
badly. Smarter women than I would have
hopped over to the sink and been brave and quiet. I was neither.
I was wishing I
had made my coffee before I decided to rush through a quick clean of the
kitchen. The kitchen was now not clean
and my dripping foot was quickly making it scary dirty.
I did exactly what my kids do when they are scared
or bleeding or freaked, they yell for their daddy. I yelled for their daddy too. Even though he was sound of sleep and even
though it was crazy early, he found me.
That is what fathers do, they
rescue, they comfort and they make things right.
I remembered
that blood and that pain as I sat across from a father as he wept. This man, a dear family friend hemorrhaged
with heart break as he explained the upheaval in his family. He cried for his wife, he sobbed for his
children. There are moments in this life
when natural remedies cannot mend.
I thought of a
thousand things to say, but as the words dropped with tears, minutes turned to
hours and thoughts became prayers.
This is what
daddies do, they stop the bleeding, and they bandage and embrace. But there are
times that even daddies fall short and the wounded hearts stand gaping open.
There are times
things, people, circumstances, countries,and lives are so broken, the only
possible repair must create something different something we are unable to see,
and incapable to feel or touch.
We know it will
be something vastly different, foreign. We will learn the language of healing,
but we do not know when and the pain remands us mute.
We cannot
describe the sorrow, nor see the finish, but we hold on to the thought that One
does see the finish and knows the end.
This is the
daddy that comes when we scream in the night and cry in silence. He knows pain.
He authored
suffering and He is the Father that teaches us how to parent in glory and gut
wrenching agony.
He is there.
How do we ever
overlook the fact that He has seen, felt, witnessed, healed, touched, heard,
held and loved everyone and everything that has ever happened? And He keeps steadfast.
Amazing.
So the daddy or
the mamma or the friend or the child prays and they usher in the Potter.
We as flesh and
blood bandage, we repair, the Potter remakes.
We can mend the
creation, He recreates.
The pain of it
is no less, the purpose however is divine.
Our life spins,
but ceases to be out of control, because we are in His hands, on His clock,
experiencing the reformation of our souls.
The physical scars may remain, their meaning changes. They are no longer the symbol of suffering
but the emblem of ownership.
Somewhere deep
we hear the whisper, "consider it pure joy, whenever you face trials of many kinds."
Joy, it is a God given
assurance that in everything He is present. He is holding us up and holding us
close when we cannot stand. It is the
promise that mourning will end on this side of heaven possibly, on the other
side, absolutely.
The bleeding stops, the
bandage grips tight and joy flows while pain ebbs. It is the transaction of healing and the
essence of holiness.
So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will
uphold you with my righteous hand. Isaiah 41:10
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