Yesterday, Ian hit his mouth on a chair, but there wasn't an immediate reaction. He paused for a moment before he began to wail. I have often found that reprieve to be a good indicator of real injury rather than simply a wounded ego. I think back to my own childhood when I experienced this delayed response to pain and the intermediary thought says, "this will soon hurt much worse."
Awakening to the dawn of my wife's diagnosis of breast cancer, I suspect we are gathering our breath. Today, there is no pain and things seem normal. But there is the promise of pain--of suffering to come. I have little concept of how much this will hurt, I just understand that it will.
After that initial reaction, when the real pain started and the blood flowed, Ian's natural instinct was to seek parental comfort. I find myself there as well. The first person I called--the first person I cried with--after hearing Heather's diagnosis was my mother. She did not offer to fix it--she cannot--she just cried with me, which I guess is why I called her.
I have also been seeking my heavenly Father, but I don't know what to say to Him. Words fail me. I believe right now, that is probably where He wants me to be. I am His wounded child and it is He who offers words of comfort. Yesterday, the daily verse from the Faithwalkers devotional was Isaiah 41:13--For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you."
Father help me to remember that you are the God of all comfort.