Of Splinters and Scars

She writhes on the bed with tears in her eyes. "I can't do it! Oh, it hurts! Owww.....no! no! no!" I move a bit closer and she curls into a ball in hysterics. My daughter has a splinter; and no, I haven't touched it yet. This scene has replayed itself in several of my children over the years. Not only when one of them has a splinter. Oh no....putting in eye drops can elicit the same reactions. One child exhibits this behavior when the doctor asks him to step on the scale. (Not that I can't relate!) I admit that my nurturing side needs help and these situations require a lot of patience from me.

I'm glad He has the patience, though. I come to Him and complain of an issue in my life that is bothering me and He gently points out the solution. I cry. I beg. I plead. Yet I won't let Him touch me. It's too scary...it might hurt. 

Once when my daughter was quite small, the splinter particularly painful and her obstinance particularly large; my husband found the perfect solution. He sneaked in while she was asleep and pulled it out quickly without her knowledge.

That's usually what it takes for Him to work. He waits until I lay back and rest in Him, then I allow Him to work on the fine tuning of my life. The tweezers pull at the skin of my comfort and occasionally a safety pin pokes through to the nerve of my carefully laid habits and plans. I wince yet I rest, knowing that in His great wisdom He will do what is best for me. 

"Daddy, just what will happen if it doesn't come out?" This time it's my inquisitive, detail-oriented son. "Well, it may get infected and we'll have to take you to the doctor and he may have to cut off your foot." They laugh. My husband loudly, my son hesitantly. Of course, Daddy is teasing---he thinks. He reluctantly holds up his big toe.

I look to my Father. "What will happen if this habit remains?" No teasing. The issue is serious. With love in His eyes, He tells me, "If you continue on this road, engaging in this habit, it may infect you. It may lead you to sin." "Then what?" We look together at the deep scars of His hands. "I've paid too much for that," He whispers. 

I reach out my smarting flesh and allow Him to work. My scars will never be as deep as His.