Digging Deeper

“He restores my soul” Psalm 23:3

Remember, as a kid, barreling down the sidewalk in your roller skates or on your Big Wheel?

The wind in your hair, the unmistakable sound of plastic wheels on concrete?  Then, as in nearly every roller skate / Big Wheel / skateboard memory, there’s the memory of The Crash. The realization that you’re going too fast, or the inevitable stone-in-your-path.

Nothing you can do but brace yourself for seriously skinned knees and hands.

The ground speeds closer, your hands go out, and *boom*, you are done.  You lay there for a second and wait for the stinging to kick in.

What comes next?  You go blasting into your house, wailing “Mommmyyy!”  She goes into action with a box of Band-Aids ( in my day, the Band-Aids were still in that tin with the hinged top… so cool.) and the bottle of stinging-stuff.

To top it off, she plants a kiss on the knee, the palms, the top of your head.

That’s the real medicine there.  I’ve done it with my own girls, when they would come in the house bellowing from a boo-boo.  There’s the “Band Aid Application”, (which really is a medal of honor to show the kids in the neighborhood what a daredevil is in their midst) followed by a kiss and possibly a popsicle, if the injury warrants such treatment.

It’s not the Band Aid, it’s not the sting-y stuff, it’s not even the popsicle that makes it all better.  It’s the comforting, the assurance that it’s going to be okay, it’s the kiss on the scraped knee that’s the real medicine.  That’s the antidote.  That’s what kept us ready and able to go back outside every time.

That’s also God’s antidote for our damaged emotions.  We don’t have to play tough-guy with God.  We can go to Him, wailing at the top of our lungs about our latest crash, sure that this boo-boo is beyond anything He’s ever encountered.  He’s waiting to comfort us, to kiss us on the top of our head and hold us until the crying is over.

Here’s the cool thing: it doesn’t matter how big the crash is, it doesn’t matter how bad it hurts.  When we go to the arms of God, in His comfort our greatest pain can be relieved as if it’s just a boo-boo.

His promise to always be near keeps me going “back outside”.  I’m still going to crash, and I’m still going to have some pain.  When I do, He will comfort me, kiss the top of my head and remind me that I’m going to be okay.

Heavenly Father, thank You for always comforting me when I feel small and helpless.  Thank You for Your Word and Promise, which renews my strength daily.

Read: Isaiah 41:10-14

Jeanne Roberts