More Lessons From Parenthood

I was in our bedroom when I heard the shriek. Then came the sobs and the muffled soothing from Geary. "What happened?!?" My eyes were wide as I entered the living room and saw Geary holding Noah against his chest, his hand covering the back of his head. Noah's cries were interrupted with big gulps of air.

"He was climbing on my legs and he fell off. His head hit the chair, " Geary answered. He pulled his hand away from Noah's head and I saw the pool of blood cupped in his palm.

Tears sprang to my eyes as my heart fell into the churning acids of stomach. My thoughts raced, "What if he needs stitches? My baby! What should we do? Check his eyes! Does he have a concussion? What am I even supposed to see in the eyes if he does have a concussion? What do we DO??"

I looked into the eyes of my firstborn son, searching for anything unusual. They were squinched together but when I touched his tear streaked face he opened them and I saw in one instant the intense pain and fear. A wave a fresh tears flowed from my own eyes.

"God, what do I DO?" my brain screamed. Struggling to see through the blurry tears, I put some ice in a baggy and wrapped the bundle in a dish towel. As I left the kitchen, I also grabbed the paper towel roll.

My husband, strong and quiet, with bloody hands, continued to comfort my son. I handed him the ice pack and paper towels he handed me strength and courage. Calmed by his calmness, I rummaged in the medicine drawer for children's aspirin and then filled a water bottle with a straw for Noah.

His sobs quieted and he was able to chew the aspirin and take some sips of water. And we sat in silence. Waiting...waiting...waiting for the blood to stop.

Geary changed out the paper towels, each one showing less red than the one before. Finally, I could see the actual cut. So tiny, the size of a pinhole. We would not need stitches today.

Noah whispered, "I bumped my head." Even as my heart ached, I was able to tell him about one of his heroes, "When Uncle Jared was a little boy, he bumped his head a LOT!" My son giggled.

In a few hours, with hair still matted with blood and tears, my son was jumping and climbing. His bumped head was forgotten and he leaned back precariously in his chair eliciting a warning from Daddy.

Geary said, "I think he's feeling better." I said, "Noah, you have no idea what a thick rope you have attached to my heart."

How could I have known that powerful love before becoming a parent? If my son, with his pin-prick cut on his head, could bring tears of pain to my eyes, how did Mary feel when her firstborn was nailed to the cross? And even greater, how many tears did God shed for his only son, bearing the greatest pain and all the sins of the world? I cannot imagine the anguish. And if my son, having a common accident, could so wrench my heart when I saw his pain, how much agony does God feel when he sees my pain? How thick is the rope connecting me to his heart?