The wound was deep.
I saw chunks of gravel embedded in the knee from where she had fallen.
As I cradled my baby girl, I was filled with a mixture of sadness and anger.
I had told her five times to hold my hand, not to run ahead. I had warned her that she was going too fast and would fall. Instead of dragging her along, I had allowed her to try it her way.
Any decent mama knows that when your child is hurting in any way its as if you have the same wound singed on your heart. You want to take the pain away, wipe the tears and make everything better for them.
Sometimes, however, you need to let go of their hand. To let them explore the world, get some bumps and bruises and maybe learn to trust you that you know what you are talking about.
It was as I was speaking soothing words to my baby girl and wiping the dirt away from her wound, I was hit with a realization.
Shamefully this is how I act with my Father. He knows the path that is safest, most filled with joy and the least hurtful. He loves me more than I can ever wrap my mind around and knows the danger that lies ahead.
He will not drag me, however.
Like a spoiled child, I jerk my hand away from the loving grasp, announcing that I know what is best for me. I run ahead wanting my own way.
Then I fall and get bruised, dirty, beaten down, bloody. I look up at a loving Father with big tears in my eyes feeling ashamed and embarrassed.
I knew better.
Just like with my daughter, the Lord could scold me. Point out that he had tried to hold my hand and help me avoid all this drama. He would be justified. He would be right.
Do you know what he does instead? He whispers soothing words to my heart and wraps his arms around me. He wipes away every piece of dirt and heals the wound.
Just like my child, I am comforted and feel the forgivness and love.