I was fumbling up the stairs when I felt her hand reach out to touch my newest scar.
Red, bumpy, and just barely healed from a surgeon’s scalpel. Not altogether strange for one of my babies to find. But instead of a quick tap of three-year-old curiosity, her hand stayed put as if she was trying to push me up the stairs in all her toddler strength.
I giggled a bit as I asked, “Whatcha doing, sweets?”
And with her usual determination, she clapped back, “I’m just carrying your boo-boos, mama.”
My heart melted a little at the love that lined her answer. Her care held no hesitation, no delay. She simply saw my hurt and jumped in to carry it.
Even now as I weigh her sweet words against life and all the places we’ve been, I am left with this...
Life is filled with boo-boos.
Cuts and scrapes and deep wounds we carry mostly on our own. Fitting so quietly into life we often forget their presence. Quiet until something or someone reminds us of their lumpy, bumped out existence.
But in this strange and mixed-up time, our boo-boo scars are fully on display.
And in their wake, His love is asking us to hold each other up in the hurt we discover. To fix firmly on their presence and not recoil at their ugliness. To gently walk into the big things of life even when we feel too small.
In the chaos. In the madness. In the hard stretches. In all the places we'd rather not show.
His love shows up and reminds us we were never meant to carry it alone.