Bandaid Obsession

It's been the same with all four of them, this obsession with bandaids. Sometimes it frustrates me how I'm dragged to the bathroom closet nearly daily for that little strip of latex. It's gotten to the point where I check the "owie" for signs of bleeding and put my foot down, exclaiming it's a waste if we continue bandaging invisible wounds. "It's time that takes care of your sore spots," I explain. But I realize, I've trained them to be this way. When each child was a toddler and was crying inconsolably over the pain of a fall, I would gently place a bandaid over the scrape, kiss them and tell them it would be all better. They run in search of that comfort now.

Where do I run to when I fall down? Often it's to the phone to share my disappointments, sadness or confusion over something. These friends, this family, this body of believers usually have insight for my struggle at that moment, but it's only a bandaid solution. When I run to the only One who can bind up the broken-hearted, whose own wounds have healed my pain, I find true restoration.

Bandaids have their place and a kiss from Mommy is still the most comforting remedy for the kids, but I'm choosing to run into the Name of the Lord--the strong tower (Proverbs 18:10). As my kids witness my "obsession" with communing with the Great Physician, they'll begin to understand where their healing is also found.