Why Moms can’t Always Make it Better

I ran toward my five-year-old, Caleb, as he limped nearer.

Tears flowing down his cheeks increased with the sight of blood oozing from his knee…and when he saw me.

“This will sting for a few seconds.” I blew my breath on the newly scraped flesh.

A kiss, bandaid, tear-wiping, and mom-cuddles will make it better.

It’s what moms do.

My children had their share of minor mishaps. My daughter, Megan, fractured her finger from a fall outside. But adventure and mischief joined forces when it came to Caleb.

Moms Want to Make it Better

“Mom, watch this.”

Bike wrecks and jumps from things oh-so-high. Roller skates would not cooperate with Caleb’s feet. Also, he experienced numerous run-ins with the concrete at the swimming pool. Usually, the lifeguard’s whistle came too late—busted lip or knee. A corroboration that hard surfaces are not our friends and adversaries of moms.

Knees, elbows, and shins are tender places. The good Lord knew how to construct the human body. This I know. But Lord, the padding is sparse on certain parts.

Pads for the knees and elbows, and helmets for heads are welcomed safeguards.  Moms around the globe are thankful. Yet, they secretly wish for rolls of industrial-strength bubble wrap. My son would have benefited from a mommy and mummy’s bubble wrap encasement.

Still, they happen. Little mishaps of a cut or bruise. Minor first aid required. Cleaning a fresh wound stings. “Ouch! It’s burning! It hurts!”

Leaning in close, I’d blow my breath on the stinging. Hoping to override the pain until it subsides. Moms make it better.

I passed on the easy-to-bruise trait to my children. Bruises in a variety of shape  and size appear on our earth suits. At times, evidence of memory, I bumped into the corner of the bookshelf. Often the aftermath of something not recollected, how did that get there? 

Moms and Tender Places 

From small children to teens and young adults, my kids lacked padding on certain parts. The tender places—hearts, minds, feelings, and broken spirits. As their mom, I desired nothing more than to make it better. I still do.

I run toward them as they limp nearer. But I can’t always make it better. Because I may not know or understand to ask, “how did that get there?”

Did she bump into the corner of life’s mishap shelf? Maybe he had a run-in with the concrete in life. The whistle came too late. The hard surfaces of life are not his friends.

Children carry invisible boo-boos—inside ouches. Feelings freshly scraped needing care. Moms and grown-ups carry them, too.

Gaping wounds oozing hurt. Old and new.

The breath of heaven blows on tender places and broken spirits. #mothers Share on X

A kissing-tear-wiping-make-it-better kind of love. From God. For His children.

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem. (Isaiah 66:13 NIV)

Come, my children, and listen to me…. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed. (Psalm 34:11, 18 NLT)

Christ runs toward us as we limp nearer to Him.

Featured images are my children, Megan and Caleb.

Isaiah 66 picture is my grandson, Foster.

Image design courtesy of Adobe Spark.

© 2015 by Karen Friday, All Rights Reserved