Bandaids For My Boo-Boos

17 01 2008

I’ve often said that kids and dogs teach me more about God than any philosophical or theological book by modern man ever could.  I’m still basking in the beauty of the precious moments with my neices and nephew at Christmastime.

I recently told a story about 4-year old Carly…  and it seems that kids this age are an unabridged resevoir of humorous and sticky sweet stories.  This year, we gave Carly bandaids for Christmas.  That’s what our sweet little stinker of a pre-schooler wanted.  Bandaids.  She has a fascination for them.  Any little mark or scrape she discovers requires coverage.  Some kids pick the black specs out of their food…  Carly finds them on herself.  So, we obliged this amusing preoccupation of hers (without consulting Dr. Phil for psychoanalysis of this life phase) by giving her 2 boxes of Bandaids.  One box featured Scooby Doo, the other Dora the Explorer.  The gift was an absolute hit, and within the next couple of hours, she had already found enough boo-boos to merit 2 of the sticky medical strips.  She would have used more, but mommy encouraged her that there were many boo-boos to come, and she should save some.

But then came the real boo-boo.  Somehow she managed to pinch her finger in a cabinet drawer and real blood began to seep free.  It was a crisis of 911 proportion for her.  Screaming.  Crying.  You would think that she had severed a limb.  And now…  now she needed a bandaid.  What was a fun game became a serious medical crisis requiring the type of medical degree only a mother can earn.

If you’re familiar with my blog, you probably see where I’m going with this.  Another diagnosis of a psychosis in the modern church.  Indeed we play out this childhood game on a regular basis.  We are a people that enjoy our hurts.  Any little reason to possibly maybe perhaps become hurt becomes a major crisis requiring pastoral and church leader intervention.  The suture this time is often an apology.  Someone has offended us to the core by doing something that rubs our fur the wrong way.  We expect the perfection from others that we would never demand from ourselves.  Everyone else’s words must be carefully measured…  and even then, offense can be taken in a heartbeat.  Aren’t we a pitiful, sorry lot.

Thankfully, God is used to using sorry lots like us.  It occurs to me that such heroes of our faith as Jacob, Peter, Matthew, Paul and so many others were transformed to something useful at the hands of a mighty God.  And even after the transformation, there was still plenty of wet work to be done. 

Guard yourself against needing a bandaid for every little spec of potential offense you find.  Somebody needs to be the grown-ups in the church…  make a vow that it will be you.  Lead by example with humility and extreme grace.  It occurs to me that someone else already set the example of how that works.  Be long-suffering and quick with an apology.  Even when we think we’re completely in the right, being the first to say “I’m sorry” often opens the door to healing and hope.  There are enough tear-worthy events in life already…  we don’t need to manufacture our own every time we find a spec that looks like a hurt.  So what if the people in your church are thoughtless and uncaring at times…  my guess is that we’ll find a person of like qualities in our own mirror.  Please, I beg of you, hear my calling in the wilderness…  lay down your arms, get on your knees and fight like a man.  Or woman.  Save the battle for Satan. 

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2 responses

18 01 2008
blueraindrop

my daughter used to do the band-aid thing too…. and usually by the time she had a real injury, we couldnt find any left to put on it.

though, she would put them on her bear too. one time she put about 5 on the tiny tail of her bear, and told us it was because it was going to fall off. We were really cautious about where the bear was when she had scissors for a while…

18 01 2008
gregfish

Great story! Thanks for sharing. Love those kid stories.

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